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HQleUesle^ XlIjaGastne 


Spain's Attitude Towabd the Cuban War Katherine Coman .... 295 

The Dwaef of the Fourth Wakd . . Lucy Branch Allen, '97 . . 301 

Jim Kempner Agatha Jean Sonna, '99 . . 308 

The Friendship of Ann M. C. K. S., '99 . . . 314 

" Good-by, Winter, Good-by ! " . . . S. C. U., '95 319 

In the Spirit of the Law .... Anna E. Wolf son, '99 . . . 319 

In Darky Land M.E.S.,'&1. . . . . 325 

An Error S. C. U., '95 . . . . . 327 

Correspondence Alice Welch Kellogg, '94 . . 327 

Editorials 333 

Free Press 344 

Reviews 345 

Books Received 349 

Exchanges 350 

College Bulletin 353 

Society Notes 353 

College Notes 354 

Alumnae Notes 357 

Marriages 360 

Births 360 

Deaths 360 

Doi. id. — flliarcb, 1897 «o. o 

Entered In the Post Office at Wellesley, Mass., as second-class matter. 


"The added pleasure of riding a 
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of the $ 1 00 a Columbia costs/' 

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Full information about Columbias and the 
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for children, too — is contained in the hand- 
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POPE MFG. CO., Hartford, Conn. 

Branch Stores and Agencies in every city and 
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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. V. WELLESLEY, MARCH 13, 1897. No. 6. 









The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss G. M. Dennison, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
will be received by Miss Mary E. Haskell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

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Advertising business is conducted by Miss Edith May, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

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Terms, $1.75 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


The traveler who goes to Spain fortified by some knowledge of Spanish 
bandits, the Carlist wars, and the Cuban atrocities reported by the Ameri- 
can press, finds his distrust speedily disarmed by the genuine courtesy and 
kindliness of the people. The Spaniard has a fashion of rendering the hum- 
blest service with an assurance of mutual obligation that lifts the act out of 
the servile plane. His pride is proverbial, but this national trait is some- 
thing better than pride. It is rather self-respect. Beggars are not so 
numerous in Spain as in Italy, and the beggar's whine is rarely heard. 
The customary form of refusal when asked for alms is, " God will aid you, 
brother." The suppliant receives your denial with an air of respectful sym- 
pathy, sorry that you find yourself in such straitened circumstances. The 
denizens of the large cities may be somewhat contaminated by tourists and 
the influences of nineteenth century civilization ; but the peasants — and 


they make up the bulk of the nation — are a fine people. They are, of 
course, desperately poor, ignorant, and superstitious. They are wholly 
under the influence of the priests, and know nothing of the world beyond 
the fields they till with unflagging energy ; but they are none the less alert 
intellectually. A peasant's talk abounds in quaint proverbs and shrewd say- 
ings, and his fund of stories is inexhaustible. The mule driver whiles away 
the tedium of the dusty road by singing old songs of knightly adventure, 
and in the evening he recites to the company gathered at the wayside venta 
tales that originated in the long crusades of the Spaniards against the Moors. 
It is a people fed on tradition. Their thought dwells in the glorious and 
romantic past. They ignore or refuse to believe in the miserable present. 
Spain to them has all her old-time power, — is still the first nation in Europe. 
From such a people one would expect valor, and patriotism, and limitless 
devotion to their country, but not political intelligence. The wisdom that 
consists in a sense of proportion, that weighs advantages, and distinguishes 
between the true and the false is developed by facing facts and accepting 
unpalatable realities. That sturdy Anglo-Saxon virtue, common sense, is 
notably lacking among Spaniards. They are easily beguiled into believing 
a statement that suits their pride, even when they have abundant evidence 
to the contrary. A prominent Madrid paper published last spring a pa- 
triotic editorial in which true Spaniards were exhorted to maintain the tra- 
ditional honor of the nation, and defend the integrity of the Spanish dominion 
against the scheming Yankees. " Spain," concluded the editor, " has never 
surrendered a foot of territory on which her hand has once been laid," con- 
veniently ignoring, in his brilliant peroration, the South American states, 
Mexico, Florida, and all that portion of our own country included between 
Texas and California. The great majority of his readers doubtless swallowed 
this statement without a qualm, even though they knew it to be untrue. 
The official reports given last spring of the progress of the Cuban war were 
curious reading. Spanish victories were reported almost daily, while the 
accumulated losses of the enemy amounted to something near the total Cuban 
force. A recent attempt of the Heraldo and the Impartial to tell the truth 
in regard to General Weyler and the actual condition of the Peninsular 
troops in Cuba was promptly quashed by the Government. The papers 
were confiscated, and the printing offices closed. This arbitrary proceeding 


occasioned no such protest in Madrid as would be raised at Rome, or Paris, 
or Berlin, because the people are not desirous to know the truth. The 
readiness of the average Spaniard to believe an assertion that finds response 
in his emotions, although he may know that it is false, can only be accounted 
for by the centuries of religious tyranny Spain has undergone. The Renais- 
sance, with its demand for liberty of thought, reached, it is true, the land 
beyond the Pyrenees ; but it was stamped out by Philip II. and the Inqui- 
sition. The Church still enforces compliance with dogmas, respect for 
superstitions, which no thinking man accepts intellectually. 

It is not surprising, then, that Spain's Cuban policy is dictated by 
pride and passion — by the feeling that the national honor is at stake — that 
the first nation in Europe must not submit to be beaten by a body of half- 
breed outlaws. Statesmen are more intelligent than the people as to the 
real issues of the struggle and the chances of success, but they must defer 
to the passionate pride of the nation. Political parties are divided, not as 
to the prosecution of the war and the suppression of the rebellion, but as to 
the character of the reforms to be accorded to Cuba and the time when con- 
cessions may fitly be made. Canovas, the Prime Minister, and the ablest 
statesman Spain possesses, has been wholly committed to the policy of "no 
concessions till the rebels plead for mercy." In an address to his following, 
just before the opening of the Cortes last May, he said : " We find ourselves 
face to face with a war which is not for reform, not for self-government, 
which has no political character, which is by no means liberal ; but which 
is a war of separation, a war of strife against the mother country, in which 
by far the greater number engaged desire, before and above everything, to 
cease to be Spanish. Reform will not suffice to bring such a war to an end, 
not even the liberal and sufficient reforms voted with so much enthusiasm 
in the Cortes (February, 1895), and warmly supported by the Conserva- 
tives. On the contrary, war broke out on the announcement of administra- 
tive reforms, for the purpose of preventing their execution. What do the 
Separatists desire? Not these or other reforms. They desire to be minis- 
ters, generals of an independent nationality, chiefs of parties, dictators. It 
is political passion that incites them. It is political power that attracts 
them." Canovas declared his conviction that no permanent peace was possi- 
ble for Cuba except in the domination of Spain. "If we should abandon 


the island the latent race antagonisms would break into flame. The 
wretched country would be involved in endless civil war." Facts go far 
to justify the assertion of the Prime Minister. One third the population 
of Cuba is made up of negroes only twenty years emancipated from a 
slavery far more degrading than that of our own South. Somewhat more 
than half the population is Creole, and the remaining fifteen per cent, — the 
wealthy and intelligent class, — Spanish. Seventy per cent of the popula- 
tion is illiterate. Unprotected by the home government, the propertied 
classes must rule by military dictatorship or be overwhelmed in a hideous 
barbarism. The Canovas cabinet holds itself responsible for this Spanish 
minority very much as the English Conservatives hold themselves bound to 
maintain the rights of the English proprietors in Ireland. 

In pursuance of this policy the Government has not hesitated to call 
upon the nation for enormous sacrifices, and the people have contributed 
with limitless devotion to the war which they believe essential to the main- 
tenance of the national honor. The renewal of the privileges of the tobacco 
monopoly was accepted without a murmur, although the tobacco monopoly 
is generally recognized as a gigantic fraud. The company furnishes a very 
poor grade of cigars at exorbitant prices, and its shares are worth three 
times their face value. Its profitable prerogative was prolonged for twenty- 
five years in consideration of an annual payment of $19,000,000. Neither 
was the releasing of the Almaden quicksilver mines protested, although this 
valuable property might well be worked by Spanish capital. Serious oppo- 
sition was, however, raised against the Navigation Tax and the Railway 
Subventions Bill. The latter measure proposed to extend the charter privi- 
leges of the railways to 1980, withdrawing the previous limitations on 
freight and passenger rates, in return for a loan of $200,000,000. The pop- 
ular feeling against the bill was strong, but opposition in the Cortes ceased 
with the outbreak of the Philippine insurrection. The new danger only im- 
pelled to new and greater sacrifices, and resistance to the measure that gave 
foreign capitalists unlimited control of internal traffic gave way before the 
enthusiastic patriotism of the people. Patriotism was not the only motive for 
compliance, however, so far as the politicians were concerned. The railway 
companies cannily appoint a number of influential deputies to lucrative posts, 
and thus secure a powerful representation of their interests in the Cortes. 


It is disheartening to discover to how great an extent various moneyed 
interests determine the Cuban policy of the government. There are not only 
the grandees who, owning great estates in Cuba, deriving their principal 
income therefrom, feel that their interests must be defended at any cost, and 
the merchants who are not willing to forego their profitable monopoly of 
Cuban trade; there are also the army contractors who, having secured 
criminally advantageous contracts, desire the prolongation of the war that they 
may batten the longer on the national treasury. There is, moreover, the 
Transatlantic^, the Spanish steamship company, which is reaping a rich harvest 
from the transportation of troops to Cuba. It has been the fashion of the 
Spanish press to laud the strenuous efforts of Antonio Lopez to meet the 
extraordinary emergency ; but the fares charged, $100 for each officer and 
$30 for each private transported, abundantly cover the cost of this patriotic 
achievement. The depressed stock of the company has risen to par since the 
war began. 

In pathetic contrast to the shifty compromises of politicians and the 
ruinous greed of contractors, shows the self-sacrificing patriotism of the 
people. When, in November last, the Government, unable to negotiate a 
loan in Paris, Brussels, or London, appealed to the people, the amount asked 
was subscribed twice over, and the subscriptions were paid in before the dates 
set. A loan of $80,000,000 from the impoverished people of Spain represents 
an incredible effort of patriotism, since the chances that the Spanish bonds 
will be refunded are slender indeed. Examples of outright gifts to the 
government are not infrequent. The merchants of Barcelona subscribed 
$3,500,000 for the purchase of an ironclad, and other maritime cities have 
been no less zealous in proportion to their means. The people are unanimous 
in their determination to subdue the Cuban rebels if it costs the last man and 
the last peseta. They are not daunted as the Avar expenses mount from 
$6,000,000 to $10,000,000 per month. They have sent 200,000 men to Cuba 
in the past two years, and the new levies are mere striplings commanded by 
beardless officers. The order to Cuba is well-nigh equivalent to a death 
sentence, so destructive are the fevei's of that tropic climate. One fourth the 
force is said to be now incapacitated for service, and the mortality is 163 per 
1,000. The drain on the resources of the country is frightful; but the 
Spaniard scorns to count the cost, leaving such low considerations to a 


' ' nation of shopkeepers." The cost must be met sooner or later, nevertheless. 
Spain is mortgaging her future. The mere interest charge on the existing 
debt (at 5 per cent) amounts to two fifths of the normal revenue. The tariff 
and the tonnage duties, the octroi and the advancing transportation charges 
are slowly destroying the industries of the country. Indications are not 
wanting that national bankruptcy is near at hand. 

The project of Cuban reforms, submitted to the Cortes by the Queen 
Eegent a month since, marks a radical change in the ministerial policy. The 
Government now declares itself willing to accord to the Island a Council of 
Administration, two thirds of whose members shall be elected by Cuban 
citizens, the remaining members being certain Cuban dignitaries who are to 
sit in the Assembly ex officio. In this body will be vested the right of hear- 
ing appeals that may be made by the provincial assemblies against the 
governor's veto, the right of levying all taxes, providing only that the 
expenses of the civil and military administration of the island be met, and 
the right of fixing the tariff rates, saving a discrimination of 20 per cent in 
favor of Spanish imports. This discrimination would no more than offset the 
extra cost of transportation incurred by Spanish as compared with American 
goods. The scheme of reform further contains the stipulation that all officials 
appointed to service in the island must be either Cubans or Spaniards who 
can prove two years' residence. This article would remedy the grievance 
most bitterly resented by the Cubans — an alien administration. The practical 
autonomy that Canovas now offers to Cuba represents a far more liberal 
colonial policy than that pursued by any government except Great Britain, 
while her forty-eight representatives in the Cortes give Cuba a share in the 
Home Government that not even Canada can boast. 

The ministerial scheme is unpopular in Spain, since it seems, from that 
point of view, to concede everything to the insurgents. But Canovas con- 
trols an overwhelming majority in the Cortes, and his reform bill will hardly 
fail to become law. In Cuba, however, the conciliatory proposals of the 
Government are repudiated by the rebel leaders, who will be content with 
nothing short of independence. Independence for Cuba would probably 
mean a military despotism such as obtains in Mexico and in the so-called 
republics of South America. Autonomy under the Spanish flag is likely 
to result in a conservative administration of the government, not henceforth 


in the interest of Spanish merchants and office-seekers, but with a view to 
protecting the wealthy and intelligent minority of the population against 
the ignorant and turbulent majority. Which administration would best 
promote the happiness of Cuba ? Shall the American people attempt to 
determine ? 

Katherine Com an. 

[Editor's Note. — At the request of the author we would state that this article was 
contributed most kindly at the last moment to fill an unlooked-for vacancy.] 


(first prize.) 

Shorty was her name. She had another — Miss McNulty — not hers 
by right. She felt instinctively that people who used the more dignified 
name did so in a conciliatory spirit, and hated them accordingly. So, 
although the nickname was a sore reminder of her ugly figure, she encour- 
aged its use among her friends and suffered it from mischievous street boys. 

When she first came into the neighborhood, they coupled the name in 
a rhyme with a reflection upon her uncleanly habits. When she appeared 
in her doorway they would sing out, — 

"Shorty, Shorty, 
Dirtier' n forty." 

But after she had made two effectively vindictive sallies upon them they 
confined their chorus to an anthem-like repetition of the name alone. 

Shorty's home was an old canal boat drawn ashore. It was almost 
bare of furniture and far from clean. The morning-glories climbing grace- 
fully up over the doorway may have been silent witnesses to that love for 
the beautiful surviving in the lowest of us. The much more visible reason 
for their blossoming just there, however, was the dusty bed of marigolds in 
a neighboring yard. Shorty's democratic spirit demanded as much and as 
good as any one in the neighborhood had. 

Several other boat-houses like Shorty's were clustered irregularly 
around the inlet of the lake near which the town was situated. A sur- 
prising amount of touchiness had sprung up in the neighborhood over the 
question whether they made better places of residence than the ordinary 


hovels. But when Shorty moved into a boat, pitched battles over the sub- 
ject ceased; a unanimous verdict was given in favor of the boats, and hovel 
dwellers took second place in the social scale. This was but one of 
many evidences of Shorty's power. No street brawl or rude fun went on 
without her. Her evil face and squat figure were the very centre around 
which all that was bad in the neighborhood turned. 

To the people living in the better portions of the town, Shorty had long 
been an annoyance. It was due to their efforts, indeed, that she had at last 
ceased sleeping in sheds and boxes about town. That she had chosen to 
live in the fourth ward was natural enough. The only people who would 
call her neighbor were there. Was it not desirable that she live where 
she be subjected to few snubs? She never had endured them; she never 
intended to. Her assertion, often repeated, " I'm's good's any buddy," had 
begun to make an impression upon the people living on the hill, — as the 
aristocratic part of the town was called. 

Not that they agreed with Shorty's opinion of herself, but a certain 
wicked strength in her character made them feel that it would not do to 
consider her an annoyance merely. 

So in various committee meetings held in beautiful libraries, at afternoon 
teas amidst flowers, elegant costumes, and witty conversation, the question of 
what should be done with Shorty and the fourth ward gained new significance. 
The committee decided at last that the city ought to have a missionary. 

The notion of a city missionary pleased Shorty mightily. She felt that 
she herself was sufficient explanation for the new official. She saw absorb- 
ing occupation in store for herself. At their first meeting, as the good 
woman appointed by the city laid her hand on Shorty's stumpy arm and 
asked, "Are you a Christian, my dear?" Shorty's stolid "Nop" covered a 
quick reading of the ineffectual woman before her. 

From that day Shorty assumed the role of general manager to the city 
missionary. That gentle woman relied upon her for necessary information 
about offenders in the ward, for bringing difficult "cases" to the prayer 
meetings, for distributing medicines and tracts, and, in fact, for the greatest 
variety of help. She herself was afraid of the people, — still more afraid of 
Shorty. She did not even confess to her own conscience that many plans 
for the ward were either altered or entirely abandoned at Shorty's scowling 


suggestion, "We don't want that down 'ere." These alterations in plans 
were reported as made, " because the original plans were incompatible with 
the present facilities for work." And so they were, so far as the missionary 
was concerned. 

The first of the converts was no other than Shorty herself. To keep 
her out of the way of temptation, she was allowed to drive for the missionary 
in short trips about the city. For a time Shorty gloried in the novelty. 
To show her appreciation of the honor, she talked incessantly of her relig- 
ious experiences. To be sure, much that she said was unintelligible to the 
missionary, but the good woman thought it wise to encourage Shorty in 
these confused self-revelations. A very few days of this close companion- 
ship, however, wore Shorty's patience threadbare. She was tired of re- 
ligion, tired of the "old saint" who would talk nothing else. More than 
all, she loathed the old beast they drove. 

With Shorty, to long for freedom was to seize it. One evening when 
she had been left to hold the horse, she jumped out and threw the reins to the 
ground. Then she whipped the inoffensive horse until he wildly ran away, 
for the first and only time in his peaceful life. Shorty's explanation of this 
act was a surly growl to the effect that the devil had got her. The mischief 
she continued to do seemed to verify these words. 

The hill people began to realize that the work of the missionary was 
futile. She was doing her best ; but so far she had worked purely from the 
outside. She had not yet reached the people. They decided, therefore, on 
new tactics. They would begin with the children, and through them, if 
possible, gain a hold on the hardened fathers and mothers. So a mission 
kindergarten was established and placed in the hands of a novice. 

This girl had had the preparation which a cultured home affords, a happy 
college life, and three years theoretical training with a kindergartner, — a 
woman not of charts and schemes and systems entirely, but one who got 
very near to kind old Frobel's heart. Rufina North, herself, was not a girl 
who had the happiness of feeling a distinct call for the work. She was 
driven by New England restlessness into doing something more than the 
social circle of her home allowed. It was in no spirit of lofty heroism that 
she came into the fourth ward. She only knew that the work would be 
hard, and thought that she might like it. 


From the first, Shorty had looked forward eagerly to the new mission 
school as a new field for her power. A few days before the opening of the 
school, she was happily converted (for about the twentieth time), and suc- 
ceeded in maintaining a decent behavior long enough to obtain the position 
of janitor. 

Shorty could do this work well enough. Her ambitious spirit, however, 
was not content with that. She longed for the same terms of intimacy with 
Miss North which she had enjoyed with the city missionary. Nor had she 
any doubt that this end was attainable, if only she were politic enough. 
But for once she failed to decide upon the correct line of action to gain her 
point. She began one day telling Miss North about the uncertain ancestry 
of Sophronia Sanders, one of the little mission girls. Miss North turned 
with a look that checked even Shorty. "Do not concern yourself about 
the children," she said. "If you do your work well, that is all that is 
asked of you." 

This was the first instance of downright resistance with which Shorty's 
schemes had met. She had been humored and conciliated by inferiors, 
equals, and superiors alike. Who was this little "upstart red-head "who 
presumed to know more about "inlet brats" than she who had lived 
among them? " I'll show 'er," she muttered, with a shake of her fist. 

From that day Shorty began a systematic persecution of the kindergart- 
ner. One day, it was music badly torn ; the next, the piano key lost ; 
another, the cupboards containing kindergarten material disarranged. 
These were all little enough things in themselves; some of them were even 
amusing in their ingenuity. Yet, all taken together, they were a constant 
menace to the school's well-being. 

The city missionary was ' ' distressed beyond measure " to find that 
Shorty could be so unkind. The trustees felt that it really would not do to 
turn Shorty away from the only steady work she had ever attempted. They 
added, by way of vague comfort, "It is such a satisfaction to think of her 
under your judicious care, Miss North." Miss North did not know whether 
to laugh or cry over their lion's share of satisfaction in the situation. 

Three of the ladies from the hill swept into the mission one afternoon to 
see if there was anything they could do for Miss North in the present diffi- 
culty. They patted the children on their heads, suggested patience with 


Shorty, and swept out of the room, leaving a lingering odor of violets behind 
them. They were truly and kindly interested, but they had not yet com- 
prehended the spirit of " the settlement idea." 

Shorty, conscious, no one knows how, that Miss North had appealed to 
the trustees, became more vindictive than ever. She declared open war by 
telling Miss North that if she cared to get out of town alive she would better 
go while she could. That was the last thing Rufina North thought of doing. 
Relinquish the hold she was slowly but surely gaining over the riotous, pain- 
stricken lives in the fourth ward she would not. 

People always wondered at first where the source of her power lay. A 
vulgar inventory of her looks, — red hair, pale face, light eyes, short nose, 
drooping mouth, — yielded such ordinary results as to assure them that her 
power was not in outward appearance. Few, moreover, were quick enough 
to catch a hint of strength in the nice harmony of face and characteristic atti- 
tude. Both were too suggestive of weariness. But those who had once 
talked with her never wondered again why the fourth ward seemed better 
for her being there. Though they might still be unable to find the one epi- 
thet for her, they knew that her low tones voiced a deathless energy, a 
poised sweetness and strength that must be effectual anywhere. 

Aside from the strong love aroused for her work, a keen desire was 
growing in Rufina's heart to reach the untutored piece of humanity warring 
against her with purely animal instincts. "Week after week passed by, each 
marked by some new torment sprung from Shorty's fertile but perverted 
brain. Though Rufina North grew paler and paler, she grew none the less 
determined to see the matter through to the end. At times it seemed to her 
that all these daily tortures must be illusions. A restful half hour in one of 
the peaceful homes on the hill, or a walk up through the piney ravine which 
cut the town in two, made the barbaric lives of the fourth ward people seem 
impossible in this university town in the year 1895. 

She needed these little outings sorely, for matters were growing serious. 
Either Shorty or her accomplices followed her wherever she went. It was 
a common occurrence for a tall woman, dressed in black, to step out from 
some shadowy street corner at night, thrust her contorted face before Miss 
North for a minute, and then, with an evil laugh, disappear into the 


One evening, as Miss North was returning from a short call, she found 
this woman sitting upon the front steps. Just inside the gate crouched a 
man. Although it was not late, the family had retired. She could not, 
therefore, call upon them, had she desired to. Not knowing for a moment 
what it were best to do, she returned to her friend's with the trifling excuse 
of a book she had intended to borrow. This time, when she went back, the 
intruders were gone. What was her dismay, however, to find that they had 
been upstairs in her room. It was in utter confusion. Books were torn from 
their covers ; ink was spilled ; letters were gone ; and, worst of all, a rare 
miniature portrait of a doughty old Scotch ancestor had been taken from its 
place in her cabinet. 

Clearly, if things had come to this pass, something must be done. Her 
landlady, good soul, would not only be dreadfully frightened were she to 
know what had happened, but she would think her highly respectable board- 
ing house disgraced to have been thus entered by the slums. " I know she 
would not keep me another day," laughed Miss North, through her tears. 
And still she hesitated to report Shorty to the police. She still felt that the 
house of correction, or even prison bars, which might await her, were her 
acts once legally investigated, were not the forces needful to direct Shorty's 
character into right channels. 

The next day, Shorty was on hand for her duties, grim, ugly, and 
watchful. Miss North tried in vain to cover her anxiety and depression. 
She was, at last, too deeply discouraged not to betray it. She felt that she 
had overestimated her powers. She reproved herself in bitterness of spirit 
for having presumed to work with human souls. She felt like scoffing at 
the great sweep and reach of the altruistic tendencies of the day. "Raise 
these people ! " she thought. " They are lead, and drag us down." 

Such words were saying themselves over and over in her mind, as she 
stood tying the blue strings of a sunbonnet under the rosy chin of the last 
little mission maid. Sophronia always lingered a minute if she could. To- 
night, however, she did not receive the loving pat on the cheek which so 
often sent these mission babies home with blissful hearts. Her sweet, 
" Good night, Miss North," got only a "Good night, Sophronia," in return. 
Not even a look into the tender, wistful eyes. She waited a minute, and 
then trudged reluctantly down the three wooden steps out into the hot 


street. Surely it was all wrong with Rufina North when she could let 
Sophronia Sanders go like that. 

She had been gone but a half hour when Shorty rushed violently into 
the room. Seeing that there were no children there, she said with an oath, 

" That Mrs. Springstein's baby's dead 'n she wants yer t' come quick." 

Miss North hesitated perceptibly. Was it a trap of Shorty's ? Even if it 
were not, could she, at the end of this overburdened day, bear an interview 
in the Springstein home! Her hesitation lasted but a second. "I'll go," 
she said. "I'll go 'long," announced Shorty. Nothing more was said until 
they reached the Springstein's. Such a home as it was ! 

In a corner of the one room Mrs. Springstein lay hopelessly drunk. 
Her dead baby was on a wooden chair under an open window through which 
the afternoon sun blazed. Two older children stood in the open doorway, 
half curious, half frightened. Not a basin or towel could be found. Shorty 
volunteered the information that " Miss Smith 'd have somethin' t' wash the 
young'n with." After Miss North had begged a clean basin and a roll of 
soft rags from this neighbor, she sent Shorty up town for clothes to a friend 
whose heart would be tender at the thought of this dead, uncarcd for baby. 
Then she took the cold little body on her lap and prepared it for burial. He 
was beautiful now, whatever he might have grown to be. He looked so un- 
wontedly lovely in the dainty garments Shorty brought back that his brother 
and sister touched him with gentle awe. They had never before seen him 
sweet and clean like this. 

After Miss North had done all she could for him and the other children, 
and had promised to come again to-morrow, she went out into the street with 
aching brain and heart. Quick steps behind reminded her of Shorty whom 
she had entirely forgotten in spite of the unusual services rendered that af- 
ternoon. The dwarf came panting up, hurried on ahead, faced around, and 
thrusting a package into Miss North's reluctant hand, began: "I didn't 
read none o' yer old letters, 'n I didn't hurt yer old picture nuther, 'n I say 
yer a good un not t' let on as who did it. Yer knovved I did it, didn't yer? 
'n yer knowed when I did it, — that night as when my friends wuz a waitin' 
outside. Yer game, yer are, 'n I ain't a goin' t' bother yer n'more." With 
that she stumped quickly down a side sti'eet. 

The victory was won, but the only flag that was hung out was the 


bright red one in Rufina North's cheeks. Sophronia ought to have been 
there just to see the glorious light in those eyes. 

At the end of the year, the city missionary, talking over the work with 
Miss North, spoke, of course, of Shorty. 

" I always felt convinced that Shorty's conversion was genuine," she said. 

" Shorty has improved, no doubt," replied the kindergartner. 

" She was so queer one had to have great patience with her pranks. 
Do you not think time has shown the wisdom of my method with her? " the 
city missionary questioned. 

Rufina smiled an inscrutable acquiescence. 

Lucy Branch Allen, '97. 


(second prize.) 

The news of Mr. McKinley's election to the presidency of the United 
States struck upon the reluctant ears of many a silver mining-camp in the 
far West with a startling, unbelievable clang. Confidence in the certain 
success of silver was as strong in these remote districts as was the opposite 
conviction in the East and more enlightened portions of the West. During 
the summer and early fall of 1896, professional "stump speakers" found 
among these isolated handfuls of men willing and credulous listeners to 
their extravagant assertions. Their speeches consisted mainly of sweeping 
statements regarding the corruptness of the opposite party, of the real 
strength and virtue in their own side, and of the unmeasured prosperity that 
would immediately come to them upon Mr. Bryan's election. The fiery 
rhetoric of the politicians was taken in absolute good faith and trustfulness 
by these eager breadwinners toiling in the silver mines. To them the battle 
seemed as good as won and their fortunes a near reality. 

Perhaps nowhere had the feeling of assured success for the cause of sil- 
ver grown stronger than in the straggling little mining camp, Placerville, 
snug in the heart of the Owyhee range of mountains, which mark the south- 
ern boundary of Idaho. 

On the afternoon of the third of November, two men stood talking just 
inside the mess-room door. 


"It's all right, of course, Jim," one of them was saying. "You know, 
and I know, that silver's bound to win. Just the same, I calculate to hold 
on to my money till you come back to-night. And then while the other 
fellers are shoutin' 'Hooray, Bryan,' you and I'll make that deal, and no 

" I'm not say in', Al, that you can't spend your own money when an' 
how you please. I'm not dictatin' as to how you shell lay it out. I'm wil- 
lin' enough to wait a day fer you, though it ain't the first I've spent that 
way. Gittin' anxious, I am, to clear out of here." 

He opened the door as he spoke and, mail bag in hand, swung out with 
an awkward, shambling gait to where his mules were hitched to a pine tree 
near the loo- cabin. He threw the mail baa; into the sleigh, climbed in heav- 
ily after it, and called out a hearty "Gee up thar" to his mules. As he 
turned from the narrow road of the oulch into the broad road of the canon 
that leads to Idaho City, he began to talk musingly to himself. 

" I s'pose I ain't jest what the fellers 'd call smart to go an' sell out this 
way, the minute I might begin to make something out o' workin' my mine. 
But I don't keer. They've laughed and jollied me about sellin' my mine jest 
long enough. An' now that I've got a chance to sell it, I ain't goin' to back 
out jest cause I ain't gittin' much fer it. I've stayed here makin' nothin' and 
takin' their joshin', till I'm plum sick o' the job, and now I'm goin' to throw 
it up, smart or not." 

James Kempner had never been called "smart" by any of the " fellers." 
He had not the briskness of manner, the quickness of mind, and the keen 
business ability which that word implies in Western usage. He was slow of 
speech, slow of movement, and slow of thought. He had never been suc- 
cessful as a miner. His efforts to work his mine had not been profitable, and 
he had left it for placer-mining in the streams, where he was again less fortu- 
nate than his comrades. He had drifted into the changeful society of Placer- 
ville, when that camp was first named, with seemingly little more of purpose 
in his coming than the pine-needle in its falling from the tree. As the years 
went by, Kempner came to be regarded as the only unvarying feature of the 
place. Everything else underwent change. New prospectors, rich in hope 
and poor in purse, came to take the places of those that had gone to other 
camps in their restless, discouraged search for wealth. The face of the gulch 


itself altered. The sides of the mountains were seamed and gashed and hol- 
lowed by the water from the hydraulic machines of the more ambitious 
placer-miners. The tall pines that at first stood thickly on the slopes and 
tops of the mountains that encircle the camp were replaced by charred or 
axe-hewn stumps. The gulch streams cut out new beds for themselves as 
the spring freshets swelled their roaring volume. But amidst all this change- 
fulness and restlessness, James Kempner lived a serene and monotonous 

He spent the short-lived summer placer-mining in the creek that rushed 
down the centre of the gulch. When the noisy stream lay hushed in a 
frozen calm, he constituted himself stage-driver between Placerville and 
Idaho City, a flourishing town some miles distant on the road to Boise. 
There were few letters and fewer passengers. Yet the arrival of the stage 
at dusk each evening was an event of interest to the camp. It was the one 
link that bound them to the great outside world. Although the duties of 
stage-driver were not always passively pleasant, and sometimes in a hard 
winter were even actively uncomfortable, Kempner enjoyed the position. 
He liked the way the men gathered about him after supper to hear all that 
he had to tell them of what was going on. His pleasure in the telling was so 
great that he always spoke at such times with even more than his usual delib- 
eration. The miners grew impatient with his slow speech sometimes, but 
they liked him, nevertheless, because of his genuine goodness, and becaiise 
he was so good-natured when they joked with him. 

Their joke was always on one subject and had become the standing jest 
of the camp. It was about Kempner's " prospects." Their delight in what 
they held a witty bit of sarcasm was so keen that they never wearied of re- 
peating it. "Well, Jim," they would say with unfailing enjoyment as he 
appeared each noon in the mess-room door, " you panned out a big lot to-day, 
I s'pose." Or perhaps, " I hear some Boise chap wants your mine for a hun- 
dred thousand and you won't let it go so low, eh?" Then there was always 
a laugh, and Jim would answer in unvarying good-humor, " Well, maybe so, 
maybe so." 

Their appetite for the jest was unexpectedly whetted early in the summer 
of '96. A purchaser actually appeared. For a day or two Kempner had the 
laugh on his side. But the intending buyer was a cautious, close-handed 


man, and loth to part with his money. He deferred the actual transference 
of the property from day to day, always inventing some new excuse for delay. 
As the months went on and still the deal had not been made, the miners took 
up their good-natured taunting again, in new form. They asked Kempner 
when he was going to take a pleasure trip with his money. They plead with 
him not to make so hasty a move, but to consider carefully before he sold 
his valuable mine to this impatient buyer. 

Kempner took it all with good grace. He even showed himself apprecia- 
tive enough of the humorous side of his situation to jest about it. He would 
tell them in graphic detail where he was going on his journey, what sights 
he would take in, and what treasures he would buy. But, in spite of the 
joking, his belief in the sincerity of his purchaser never failed. The plans 
he made at first in fun, became real projects. The thoughts of his trip were 
constantly in his mind. He grew eager and restless for the pleasures he had 
pictured to himself. The alluring vision held him always, and he could not 
but grow impatient under the delay in the realization of his dreams. Only 
that morning, he asked Garret if he was not almost ready to make the deal. 
Garret's declaration that the sale rested on the election of Bryan had not 
filled him with foreboding. Such a contingency did not rouse his anxiety as 
to a possible outcome of the election. Everybody — and by everybody he 
meant the stump speakers — had said that silver was to win, and, of course, 
that settled it. As he drove alone; he was jubilant over the thought that 
there would be no more waiting. This was the last time he would £0 to 
Idaho City as the stage driver. To-morrow, one of the other men would 
have to bring him down as a passenger, and he would take the stage the next 
morning for Boise, the nearest railroad town. In pure joy he broke out now 
and again in fragments of song. The loud, cheery sound struck strangely 
upon the deep quiet of the woods. 

When he went into the post office at Idaho City, he saw that the place 
was filled with eager groups of men, talking excitedly. 

"Well," he said, laying a genial hand on the shoulder of the man 
nearest the door, " well, it's 'Hooray for Bryan,' I s'pose, pard." 

"That's what it ain't," growled half a dozen voices. "Not this time." 

" What's up?" demanded Kempner. 

"Ruin's up, that's what's up," broke forth one of the men. "Bryan's 


beat, and you and me, and all the rest of the fellers air goin' to starve. 
That's what's up, I tell you." 

Kempner's slow mind refused to take in what was said. 

" What's that you're sayin'?" he stammered dazedly. 

"Why, jest this. McKinley's won. Can you take that in, man?" 

The facts struggled slowly into Kempner's consciousness. 

He moved silently to the post office window. "No letters or papers," 
the man told him. He took his empty mail bag and went out to his sleigh. 

"Seems struck dumb," observed a bystander as he watched Kempuer 
drive off. 

" O, Jim's not quick," returned another. " Probably won't know till 
some time next month who's been elected." There was a general laugh. 

Kempner heard both the remark and the laugh. " Guess I do know 
pretty well, though," he said to himself. 

"McKinley's won." The words seemed burned into his brain. He 
said them over and over to himself as if their sound held some strange fasci- 
nation. They brought one thought to his mind. The mine could not be 
sold. His money, his trip, his pleasure were gone. The fortune which, 
in imagination, he had already owned and spent with the lavishness and 
enjoyment of unpracticed possession, melted before this news like the snow 
and ice under the warm breath of the soft chinook. 

"Can't go nowhere, can't see nothing. Work, work, that's all there is 
fer me. Won't the fellers laugh at me now, though. Gosh ! It seems 
like I couldn't stand it to tell 'em, and have 'em pokin' fun at me. They'll 
never git through joshin' me." He relapsed into a silence that lasted some 
minutes. The early darkness was already falling. One by one the shadows 
of the trees slipped and melted into the one great shadow that enfolded the 
canon. Suddenly Kempner's fingers tightened around the reins. He roused 
himself and sat up straight and strong. His eye shone with excitement, 
and his breath came hard. His despondency and fretfulness were gone. 

"That's what I'll do. I'll tell them Bryan's been elected. There 
won't a soul know for at least a day. And after I once sell that mine there 
ain't no power on earth can make me buy it back again." 

He spoke quite aloud and fast as if he were afraid of interruption or 
contradiction. " I'll come down as usual for the mail to-morrow T , and when 


I get to Idaho City I'll send the team back by Mike Flannigan. Then 
Hooray fer Boise, and a good time." 

He was full of savage joy. He laughed aloud and slapped his knee 
jovially. In his excitement the mules seemed fairly to crawl. He stood up 
and beat them energetically on the back with the reins. His exultation 
grew with each moment. He sang boisterously, and swayed back and 
forth in time to the music. His stock of funny songs ran low, and 
he began on more serious pieces, fitting their words to a wild, impetuous 

When he had sung them all until he was hoarse, he began to talk to 
himself again. "I'll go off without sayin' a word to anybody. They kin 
find somebody else to laugh at now, and make fun of the whole time. They 
kin find some other feller to come down here every day and git their news 
fer them. I'll show 'em if I'm so slow as they think. See if I'm not smart 
after all — that's what they'll see. An' there's Garret ! won't he be paid, 
though, fer keepin' me danglin' around after him all this time, always makin' 
excuses, and never puttin' down any money." 

His voice sank into silence. As he drove along through the quiet 
woods something of its stillness stole over his spirit. His fierce exultation 
gave place to a thoughtful calm. In this new peace he began to think of 
others, and of the effect the step he was meditating would have upon them. 
The thought of Garret urged itself repeatedly. "Pshaw! "he muttered 
uneasily, " what's the harm." A silence. 

"It ain't just straight, though, — that's a fact. Same as if I took his 
money sneakin' like, same as any thief." 

The burning heat that had filled him a few moments ago was gone. He 
felt himself growing suddenly cold. He wrapped himself more closely in 
his fur robe and buried his face deeper in his collar. 

"Guess I wasn't made for nothin' but to drudge along up here same as 
I've always done. If I ain't smart enough to git that money honest, I ain't 
smart enough to keep it, neither. Garret ain't that way. He knows how 
to hold on to his money." 

He smiled grimly at his own humor. 

"Guess they're all about right sayin' I ain't over quick. But if I ain't 
quick, I am straight. There ain't one of 'em can ever say I done a crooked 


thing before now. Somehow it don't come easy now to ti'eat a man 

He was silent. .He pictured to himself the camp after he was gone. 
He saw the miners in their rough flannel shirts, gathered in hearty good- 
fellowship about the mess-room table or the huge fireplace. 

"Like as not, after I'm gone, somebody'H come up from Banner or 
Centerville an' ask, ' Why, where's Jim Kempner.' An' then Tom or Jack, 
or one of the others '11 up an' say: 'Kempner? Oh, he cleared out with 
another feller's money. Ask Garret where Kempner is. I guess he can 
tell you.' An' then sorabody'll say: 'Well, I alius thought Jim wasn't 
extra smart, but I alius thought he was straight. Hadn't no idea he'd serve 
a man like he did Garret.' Seems like I couldn't stand that. I'd sort o' 
take the taste out o' all my fun if I was to think of them fellers talkin' about 
me like, that." 

The mules began suddenly to quicken their pace. Kempner looked out 
from the shelter of his wide collar. They were just turning from the canon 
into the Placerville gulch. In another moment they would be at the mess- 
room door. His breath came quickly. He sat up firmly against the back 
of the seat and braced his feet against the dashboard. 

" There ain't no use. I can't do it. There's only one thing I know 
how to do an' that's to act straight an' square, an' I guess I'd better stick 
to the business I know." 

"Hello, Jim," called out the miners from the mess-room door. " Why 
ain't yer shoutin' ' Hooray fer victory?'" 

" Wal, boys," answered Kempner, " I allow I'll wait a spell." 

Agatha Jean Sonna, '99. 


(second prize.) 

A pink film of clouds was in the western sky. The wind had dropped. 
In the garden the sweet peas were as motionless as the tiger lilies or the 
close box hedges. Only in the rose corner, where a white dress showed, was 
there a stir. There Joanna, snipping and trimming the thrifty old rosebushes, 
could hear now and ao-ain the murmur of her mother's voice. Mrs. Chil- 


ders was talking on the back porch with an old friend of the family, Miss 
Gilpin. The white of her apron flashed as she rocked steadily to and fro. 
" The squire was mighty set in his opinions, — brave but obstinate. And 
his wife had a proper spirit of her own," — the talk sank into a murmur. 
Then — "But young Travers is a fine lad." Joanna raised her head at this, 
and a little smile curved her lips as she shook the crimson petals from a 
rose. Old-fashioned single roses they were, with great golden hearts. 
" They were made for ladies' lips to kiss," thought Joanna ; and she pressed 
them with her own. 

The film of cloud had separated into pink patches which went drifting 
across blue stretches of sky, when down the road came the steady clamp of 
a horse's foot. Joanna shivered a little nervous shiver, and her dark eyes 
opened a little wider; yet she looked up quietty, with hands hard pressed 
against the rose stems, at the figure on the gray horse. A moment later, 
as she walked slowly down the path to the house, she heard her mother say, 
"There, now; I believe the biscuits are done at last;" and then call, 
" Joan ! supper." 

When Joanna went in she found the table set near the southern windows 
of the kitchen, and her mother and Miss Gilpin already seated. Her mother 
was pouring the tea in the best cups with the gold bands. As Joanna entered, 
Miss Gilpin looked up in her earnest, startled way. "Dear me, child," she 
said, " how tall you grow ! You seem almost like a young lady." 

"Joan would have her white dress long, and she persists in wearing her 
hair combed straight back," said Mrs. Childers in her soft, drowsy voice. 
She was rather a stout woman, with a delicate, soft skin. She would have 
had essentially a comfortable, even a drowsy presence, had it not been for the 
observant look of her dark eyes. Her voice, too, would unexpectedly break 
its crooning monotone with a sharp quaver. "But then," she went on, "as 
Joan says, she is almost sixteen." 

" Almost sixteen," murmured Miss Gilpin. She dropped the sugar into 
her tea with the thin, old tongs, all the while gazing reflectively at Joanna. 
"The Childers' eyes and mouth," she observed. 

Mrs. Childers nodded assent. Joan dropped quickly into her chair. 

The two women talked on from strawberry jam to their neighbors. 
" Squire Travers has a snug little property," said Miss Gilpin ; "and Jack 


is his only child. Jack seems to be always riding up the hill to Judge 
Edwards's nowadays ; they say, to see Nancy Edwards." 

"Nancy used to be in Joan's Sunday-school class; didn't she, Joan?" 
asked her mother. 

Joan said, briefly, "Yes; before she went away to school." 

The women rose from the table and went out to the porch. Joan sat at 
the table a while, fingering her teaspoon, — a frown between her brows. 
Finally she stood up, and began to clear the table. The summer dusk 
deepened in the long room as she carried the dishes from table to closet. 
Joan clattered the knives resentfully ; she set down the dishes in a way that 
was kept from being passionate only by an instinctive housewifely care. 
"Why wasn't she a judge's daughter?" Then she blushed in the gloom at 
her disloyalty to her father. " At any rate, if only she were a pretty young 
lady of nineteen, with blue ribbons in her hair, like Miss Nancy !" 

"Joan, won't you need a candle?" her mother called through the open 

Joan cleared her throat. "No'm, it's all right. Everything's done." 

She went and stood by the screen door, wiping her eyes with the back 
of her hand. She could hear her mother crooning her words : "Yes; the 
air is sweet to-night ; and the sweetest roses of all are the old-timeyred ones. 
Joan takes care of those, and she never picks one. . . . Yes ; Joan has freaks." 

"Her Aunt Jane Childers, too, was full of notions," came in Miss 
Gilpin's staccato tones. "I remember once when she " 

Joan slammed the door, and went and sat down on the lowest step of the 
porch. The wind came in little puffs, bringing the smell of roses nearer, just 
stirring the short locks of hair about her forehead. She was growing happy 
and dreamy when the gate clicked, and Ann Jason came up the path. Joan 
looked around without much of welcome or animation. "Hello, Ann," she 
said, and pulled her skirt away from the step. "Ann was nice enough, but 
why should she be always coming to see her?" was her thought. 

Ann sank down beside her, and began gayly : "My fingers are all 
stained," holding them up close to Joan's face. "I've been helping mother 
do up strawberries. Isn't it fun to pickle and preserve? The children would 
hang around the kitchen and tease for a taste. Elsie put her finger in the 
preserves and burned it. Oh," she ended with a laugh, " we all got excited." 


Soon she burst out again. "Do you see Jack Travers go by almost 
every day ? I love to watch him on the gray. Isn't he good-looking, though ! " 

Joan could hardly control herself. "I don't see what you care about 
Jack Travers' looks," she said. "I don't think it's very nice for you to talk 
that way. And you're only sixteen." 

Ann looked at her curiously ; she looked as if she were about to give 
vent to a long whistle of astonishment. Instead, she jumped briskly up. 
"I must go home," she said ; "I came over just for a moment. It's time to 
put Charlie to bed. Good-night." 


Joan went and stood beside her mother's chair. "I'm tired ; I guess I'll 
go to bed. Good-night, Miss Gilpin." 

Her mother patted her hand gently. " Good-night, Joan," she said. 

The next morning Joan was dusting the sitting room, when she saw 
Miss Nancy Edwards come down the street and up the path. Joan long 
remembered how pretty Nancy looked in her dimity with the blue ribbons. 
She and Joan went into the prim little parlor. " We young people of the 
town," she said, "are going to have tea at my house to-night. You know 
most of them, don't you, — Jack Travers, Mary Weston, Bessie James, and 
the rest? I've come to ask you to complete the party." 

Joan flushed with excitement : it would be delightful — tea, and games 
afterwards, of course. To be sure, she felt a little sorry for poor Ann, who 
wasn't invited. Her lips were parted to say how pleased she would be to 
go, when of a sudden a whim took possession of her. Even at the time 
she thought " the Childers' notions " again. 

"I can't come," she said, abruptly. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Per- 
haps Ann Jason might fill my place." 

Miss Nancy flushed a little. "I'm sorry you can't come, Joan," she 
said. Shortly she took her departure. Joan watched her go down the 
path, across the street to the Jasons' house. Joan went on with her dust- 
ing miserably ; the rest of the day she baked custard and fried doughnuts ; 
she arranged all her bureau drawers. 

After tea she started down the road to the cobbler's for her shoes. 
There had been a shower late in the afternoon ; the bushes and plants were 
still dripping with raindrops. Joan thought enviously of Ann at the tea 


at the Edwards's ; but she enjoyed the sweet, warm smell that comes after 
a rain. She had stooped to watch a toad hopping into the underbrush. 
Conscious that some one was approaching, she started up to find herself 
face to face with Ann. 

"Why, Ann," she cried, in a startled tone. "Why aren't you at the 
Edwards's? I thought you were going there to tea." 

" Well, I didn't go," said Ann, lightly. 

"But why not?" 

" I thought I wouldn't." 

" Why? Why didn't you go — honestly?" 

Ann looked embarrassed. She swung her sunbonnet to and fro. Finally, 
looking frankly at Joan, she said: "I didn't go because I thought, from 
what you said last night, that you would like me to go. I didn't care 
anything about going, anyway." The sunbonnet was swinging again. 

Joan stood very quiet. Then, in a high-pitched, monotonous tone, 
she answered : " You needn't have minded me. I didn't care if you went." 
After a moment, she added: "Going home now?" Ann nodded. Joan 
turned and they walked back together. 

As Joan reached her gate she began to laugh. 

o o o 

" What is it?" asked Ann. 

"Oh! my shoes are still at the cobbler's. I was going after them 
when I met you, — and forgot them." 

Ann laughed, too. " What will your mother say?" 

The sound of their girlish laughter came soft on the moist evening 
air. Joan's mother smiled over her mending at the sound. 

" Good-night, Ann." 


The evening after that of the Edwards's tea, Joan was picking her red 
roses. She saw a figure canter past, and had a glimpse of a blue ribbon 
in the hat — a color never there before. Somewhat to her own surprise, 
she went on choosing her most perfect flowers quite unmoved. She even 
found herself half humming, half singing, "Jerusalem, the Golden." With 
her fragrant crimson armful she picked her way across the dusty road. 
Tom Jason, with his chum, was sitting on the fence drumming with his 
heels as he whistled the " Irish Washerwoman." As Joan went up the 


path of the Juson's yard to the gay tune, she saw Ann playing tag with 
her little sisters. She came, flushed and panting, to meet Joan, — her smallest 
sister at her heels. 

Joan held out her roses. " I brought you these," she said. " I thought 
you might like them." 

M. C. K. S., '99. 


From out the thicket a bird-voice rang, 
" Good-by, Winter, 
Good-by, good-by! " 
So hopeful and clear was the song it sang 
That the low grass fluttered its few green spears, 
And the budding maple forgot its fears, 
And the timid wind breathed a low reply, 
" Good-by, Winter, 

S. C. U., '95. 

(honorable mention.) 

The sexton's name was Carl Mendel. He lived with his wife in a 
little three-roomed cottage back of the synagogue, the little gray cottage 
which the grading of the street had left with some three feet of founda- 
tion wall exposed. It was a curious neighborhood. It had within itself a 
gentle incongruity, that of a city stamped, as it were, with the rural, grow- 
ing up in a newness that sniffs of clovers and yellow daisies, and pump- 
kins between the rows of harvest corn. Grass grew in the hollow across 
from the synagogue, and a sagging, Avooden rail dragged its slim posts 
over toward the weeds and the weatherworn negro shanty. There were 
rows of brick houses down the block-paved side street, basement window- 
sills tilled with geraniums, and a tiny butcher shop, shaded by a worthy 
oak, with shops and cable cars in the distance. 

Mendel had slipped easily into his little home, and his share of the 
neighborhood life. He liked to see it all, its shade and shabbincss, its 
noisy sunshine. Still, though tw r o sets of his windows commanded some 


large range of vision, those that looked onto the back wall of the syna- 
gogue were by no means the least well patronized. It was as though Men- 
del and his wife could see through the red brick wall, the interior, out 
through the vestibule, the doors, and down the wide stone stairs. For, 
would he not go to the kitchen window, and say, as if it were a conclu- 
sion following on the heels of a careful investigation, "The stairs of the 
organ-loft must be mopped to-day"? Mendel and his wife were Ger- 
mans, good, simple, Jewish people of native sense, and a bit of fine mys- 
tical fibre essential to religiosity. But brick walls are brick walls, and 
second sight is only an odd habit, combined with memory of the dust in 
the path of yesterday's sun on the stairs. 

So this Friday morning Mendel's wife scoured the knives, and Mendel 
sat smoking at the east window in the kitchen. He had a long-stemmed, 
full-bowled cherry pipe, with a carved wreath winding from stem to black- 
ened edge. Mendel's hair was red, his suit was dull brown, and his negligee 
shirt, a faded stripe. He was waiting on a background of household duties 
done for this morning, with a charming disregard of a few minutes wasted 
at the right time. His calling brought this prerogative. They spoke in 

" Was there not something special to be done to-day? " said Mrs. Mendel, 
flinging a knife with a clatter into the dish pan. 

Fortunately for Mendel, he had only to turn his head to see the wall. 

"There are all the gas fixtures to be cleaned. Before supper I shall 
dust as usual." 

"You will need plenty of time for the brass. Is the pipe almost 
smoked out? These sunny days it puffs slowly, it seems to me." 

" No need for hurry," protested Mendel. " You can come help, if the 
work proves too much." 

This, it must be understood, was a family joke, Mrs. Mendel's aid 
being a thing always used as backing and never called for. 

But Mendel rose to go within a few minutes, knocked the ashes of his 
pipe into the coal-scuttle, and was off with cloths and brushes out the front 
door, which faced the green terrace and the red house across the way. He 
paused only a moment to draw in a cool, April breath, then turned to the 
right and walked to the farther side door of the synagogue. It unlocked 


readily, and let the sexton into the little entry, with its vestry door and 
staircase running up into the vestibule of the temple. Mendel walked back 
through the Sunday school rooms, opening windows to freshen the still, 
chilly atmosphere. At the extreme end was another hallway. A narrow 
stairway was boxed onto the wall here, the very back wall at which Mendel 
had been looking a short while before. He opened the little door of the 
stairway passage, and went up to a tiny room with a few chairs and a small 
stained window. Before the door hung a curtain, a soft, deep red stuff, that 
yielded lightly to the roughened hand that pushed it aside. Mendel stood 
on the pulpit platform now. 

The organ pipes and the carved wood of the loft were away at the front 
of the building. Sunk somewhat below was a rounded gallery. Under the 
whole, and reaching to within a few yards of the pulpit, was the body of 
the seats, brown like the gallery and the panels and beams of the ceiling. 
The walls were frescoed, toned gently in simplest conventional designs, with 
long windows, all color, set deep their whole length. The light was not yet 
strong at this hour of the day. Above Mendel's head the ceiling was shaped 
like a shell, corrugated, of a pale blue. 

At either side of the pulpit was a tall lamp, with its seven candlesticks, 
and back of the pulpit, almost against the wall, stood the shrine, a high, 
carved wood case that filled the entire space of wall. Its sliding doors 
were closed now. Back of them was kept the scroll of the law, and before 
the shrine hung a square lamp ; on it was graven the star of David. The 
flame jet within was fed by gas. This was the perpetual light which had 
been burning since the dedication of the temple, and should burn on until 
the synagogue should be no more the sanctuary. It is one of the old sym- 
bols that is still beautiful in the eyes of the modern Jew. It has a fragrant 
past and serves the present. For Mendel, to-day, it was part of his dut}'. 

The great chandeliers that hung from the ceiling had all to be reached, 
dusted, polished. And the side-lights must be made bright, their globes 
washed. The morning wore on rapidly, while he moved his great ladder 
and rubbed and washed. As he finished the smaller fixtures, he tried the 
flame of each, li^htins: it and turning; it off as soon as he was assured of its 
working order. It was high noon when he finished the lamps of the altar. 
The light before the ark was pale. Mendel unscrewed the square glass cas- 


ing and washed it, wiping it and scrutinizing it carefully. Then it was put 
safely back. The light shining dimly discovered no streak on the glass. 
Mendel threw the chamois skin and linens over his shoulder and looked at 
his watch. It was twenty minutes past twelve. He put his arm up and 
turned the gas off. Then stepping down, he picked up his stool, picked up 
the pail and the water-ringed newspaper. The red curtain fell back silently 
behind him as he went out. 

In the evening there was regular service. Mendel could not but watch 
with satisfaction the clean brightness of the lights. They made him half 
forgetful of the ritual. But he could not long forget where he was. The 
voice of the Rabbi drew him. It was a good voice, that could swell to a 
thundering earnestness without lapsing into the grotesque, and it Avas an 
honest voice. It searched, yet kindly, into the secrets of your soul, and 
laid them bare, but only to yourself. And it bore words, so strong, so 
clear. If you could have ceased to think of what they meant, you would 
have loved them for their strength, their clearness. Mendel had known the 
Rabbi only the six years of his ministry, but those years had given him a 
sense of breadth, and put a great affection into his heart. The Rabbi was 
not tall, and he was rather thin. He was wont to stand quietly at his pulpit 
while he made plain the thought he read out of his text. Then he would 
grow restless and change his position, and let his thought move him so that 
it might move his people. 

To-night Mendel felt singularly at peace with himself. The lights shone 
at their clearest. He was drawn away from them to listen. He was an op- 
timist. No wonder, for, after all, life had treated him kindly for the most 
part. Out of the sermon he seemed to grow into a peace more high. It left 
him in an exultant glow of thought at the end. He had come into this plas- 
ticity slowly. Often the English of the Rabbi was in its final interpretation 
beyond Mendel's knowledge, the words refused to join their ideas. But he 
had learned to understand, and more, to supply the phrase that escaped him 
from the context that he followed. He heard more than mauy of the con- 
gregation were able to dream of in the sermons of the Rabbi. 

The benediction had been softly spoken, and Mendel went down stairs 
to get his long pole with which to turn out the lights. The Rabbi stood 
with his wife and a few lingerers in the front of the left aisle. He was clear- 


ing a point in the discourse to a doubtful friend. The group moved slowly 
up the aisle as Mendel turned out flame after flame with a click. 

"I grant the intrinsic power of formalism," said the Rabbi. " Surely 
you could not mistake my position on that point. But Elijah failed to real- 
ize " He stopped to hold a leaf of the door open for his wife. Mendel 

was left alone standing near the altar with an eerie, dimly colored moonlight 
all about him. There was something strange about the space before him. 
He shook off the impression, and thought of his little home beyond the wall. 
He knew his wife had gone on to make it cheerier for his coming. Still he 
did not turn around. There was something strange in the appearance of the 
sanctuary. Then his knees seemed to give way and a sickening throb rose 
to his throat. The lamp of the sanctuary — the perpetual light — there was 
no mistaking what his eyes saw, was out. 

It took but a second for him to struggle out of the mystery. He re- 
membered. He had turned it out himself this morning. An aoje of numbed 
thought passed over him. He remembered his happiness this evening, and 
the agony of discovery as though it were of the dead, long ago. He was all 
mediaeval in his still despair. The light was burning no longer. It burned 
no longer. And it had lighted the shrine. The shrine held the perfect 
thought of righteousness, the righteousness of God. 

" And he lighted the lamps before the Lord," murmured Mendel. 

He did not tell his w r ife of the catastrophe. He had to think further of 
it, and see whether he held any key to the situation before he could call in 
any aid. He lay awake for hours, thinking now, with his thought all shad- 
owed by his traditions and his vision confused by his ancestry. Why should 
he not light the lamp again early in the morning? No one had even seen 
that it was out, and no one need be disturbed over this dumb mockery. But 
that was impossible. " And he lighted the lamps before the Lord." It was 
a sacrilege, a profanation, that the light was out. And that he should dare 
to light it again was a dark thought. And he would not deceive himself; 

coo 7 

it could never be right to deceive others. No one knew save Him to whose 
glory the light had burned. Right and wrong ! Mendel could not see 
through it and could not pray until he saw. God forgives, but sin is sin. 
And so it went on, a bewildered wandering with every turn in the path 
obscured in mist and fog. The light should be burning and was not burning. 


That a thing should be, and yet not be. It was clear that something was 
out of order. And so he carried it over into a troubled dream. 

He told his wife in the morning, and she shook her head in bewildered 

" I do not know. What you say is so. And still But there is no 

need to take it so sadly. Leave the thing as it is. Tell the Rabbi. He 

But the Rabbi came too late for Mendel to see him, and after the service 
there was no time to speak with him. So Mendel went in the afternoon, 
down the street into the busy city and across its belt of noise and hurry into 
the quieter, quainter part where the trees were tipped with the faintest green 
now. Here there were old houses that stood back from the street. The 
Rabbi lived in one of these. There was a brick walk and a few low steps. 
Mendel had to wait in the great hall for a few minutes. Then the maid 
asked him to go up to the Rabbi's study. The room was in the front of the 
house, a large, square room with light from the east and south. Dark book- 
shelves ran high up the north wall, and lower around the west. There were 
a few beautiful things, pictures and flowers, but the room was rather sombre. 
The Rabbi sat in a revolving chair back of his great desk. His eyes and 
hair were dark, and his face looked pale against the rows of books behind 
him. Mendel greeted him simply and told his trouble briefly. He forced it 
into a few words, and the Rabbi w r as slow to see the difficulty that was in the 
mind of the man before him. But when he had gotten at it by a few ques- 
tions, he half smiled. It was to him so simple. He was two generations 
beyond Mendel in his modernness, and so he could smile, though with un- 
derstanding and no lack of sympathy. 

He stretched out his slippered feet, and leaned his head back. " It is 
no tragedy, Mendel," he said, with a note of assurance that put away all 
doubt. The Rabbi was a teacher, and he loved his art as well as his pupils. 
He held his hands up, touching finger tips, and went on in that simple, sin- 
cere voice. 

" You have not sinned, for sin lies in the unholy touch. And you have 
not sinned, for you have confessed what you thought was your wrong doing. 
Do you honor your God less ? or, have we broken his commandment ? You 
know best how it is. True, when we say, let us enshrine the books of 


Moses, as a sign that we hold their teaching in our hearts, we must keep the 
symbol for no less than it means, even as we keep it for no more. Light 
the lamp ! You can do it as holily as I, I know." 

The Rabbi leaned forward now. When they parted, Mendel had risen 
again to a beautiful peace. The perpetual light was lighted with prayer. 
Its consecration had been no greater one than this. 

Anna E. Wolfson, '99. 


Out in the kitchen of his city home sat the famous negro dialectician 
with an old darky he had picked up on the street that morning. They were 
playing a lively break-down on a silver-tipped banjo, and an old battered 
one ; for the imitator could not only bring hack plantation sounds with his 
lips, but with the strumming of his banjo. Tune after tune they played, 
and the expression on the old black face became more and more tense, while 
the gray head bobbed back and forth with rapid jerks. Finally in the for- 
tissimo of the liveliest movement, with a whoop that only a plantation darky 
knows, he threw his banjo in the air, and shouted, " Fo' Gawd ! Mars Polk, 
how I wish you was a niggah ! " 

All through the lazy southern day he sat nodding in the sun outside of 
his cabin door. In the hollyhocks near by the bumblebees buzzed and bumped, 
and the humming birds flitted about between the hollyhocks and the old 
mimosa tree. From far out over the field, white caps seemed to be coming 
in as the fitful summer breezes touched the billowy heads of cotton — no more 
snowy, however, than the one bowed low over the heavy oaken stick. By 
the back stoop a woman sang, to a rhythmical scrubbing accompaniment, 
" Massa's in de Cole, Cole Groun'." Then, as if she suddenly remembered 
the old man, she came and bent over him tenderly, drying her hands on her 
rough gingham apron, and humming the last of her refrain. 

" Dinah, my massa's been callin' me all day long ! I reckon 'faint long 
'fo' I'se gwine to foil ah him," he whispered, as he pointed out over the field 
with his old oak stick. 


I was sitting on the back porch of my old plantation home, looking 
dreamily out over the cornfields to the river, when he came limping up the 
creaking steps. 

" What's the matter, Sammy?" I asked, as the red and white striped 
stockings, and rough hide shoes, reached the top step. 

" We'se mos' ready to go to de 'stracted meetin', you know ; and Mani- 
my made me wear dese shoes, an' I ain' had on none all summer." Then, as 
he seated himself at a respectful distance on the old wooden bench, and 
crossed his little black hands over one knee, " Didn't de white folks hab ice 
cream fo' dinnah, Miss Kate?" 

He never pleaded with me in vain for goodies, this small reminder of 
happy "fo-de-wah" days. Very soon he had eaten a full saucer of cream, 
and with the spoon poised on a sticky forefinger, was looking at me with 
eyes that begged for more ; and he got it, even unto the third saucer. 

I watched him, till I fell to dreaming again — and my eyes sought the 
river. Only the clink of the spoon against the saucer, and a satisfied sigh 
now and then broke the stillness of the southern, summer day. Presently 
all was quiet, and I looked around to find the happy Sammy with a most 
disconsolate expression on his face, his head turned a little on one side, and 
his eye fixed gloomily on about a quarter of a spoonful of cream. 

< < What is it, Sammy ? Isn't it good ? " 

" Yas'm," in a sad tone. 

" Then, why don't you eat it? Have you got enough?" 

Then he looked at me as he straightened up, and unbuttoned the little 
worn jacket. " Yas'm," he sighed, "got 'nough ev'y whar 'cept my mouf." 

I am weary and worn to-night. I have been pursuing sleep for hours, 
but all in vain, save for one little doze. Even then I dreamed; and the 
dream was blissful, but I am sorrowful now. 

It was years ago, in the old home nursery. I was tired, oh, so tired ! 
Every childish atom ached in a different way. Just as weariness had driven 
out all future hope, a pair of strong arms folded me close, a dusky face bent 
sympathizingly over my yellow curls, and the big rocking chair began to 
swing to a measured, crooning melody. Only once I languidly peeped out 
to catch the glint of the firelight as it touched up the nodding gray head, 


and wreathed in and out of the wrinkles of the brown withered face. 
Then closing my eyes I cuddled down closer to the old print dress, and 

Oh, to be cradled again in " mammy's" strong arms, to be rubbed and 
patted by the big loving hand, to be lulled to dreams by some plaintive 
darky song ! For this I would give up all that life now holds. I cannot 

M. E. S., '97. 


Across a smiling April sky, 
A small, dark cloud went swiftly by, 
And as it passed in hurried flight, 
From out it dropped a snow-flake white; 
Dropped straight into a crocus 1 cup 
From out the ground held bravely up. 
The snow-flake sighed, "Ah, pretty dear, 
I love thee, I will tarry here, — " 
Then owned its error by a tear. 

S. C. IT., '95. 



It is a six months in only a very small portion of South Africa, and a 
six months mainly spent in the steady occupation of teaching ; yet the life 
and surroundings here have had for me such a distinct element of difference, 
that I venture to make a few jottings from my "first impressions" for 
The Wellesley Magazine. 

Wellington is a tiny village nestled in the midst of great shaggy 
mountains, from whose rocky brown slopes the light of the setting sun is 
reflected with a wonderful red glow. There is one long principal street, 
shaded by magnificent oaks ; here are several small shops, the post office, 
circulating library, " hotel," and dwellings, while the spire of the Dutch 
Reformed Church at the head looks benignantly over all. Houses with gar- 
dens line the other streets, while several occupy more commanding sites on 
the tops of small hills. The tiniest imaginable Episcopal chapel, a large 
meeting-house for the colored people, and the various educational institu- 


tions make up the rest of the place. Modern improvements like sidewalks, 
street lighting, and methods of laying the thick dust are entirely lacking. 
The architecture is, with very few exceptions, of the usual Cape type — 
elongated, bare, one-story high, and covered with white plaster, the better 
to keep out the heat. 

The white inhabitants are descendants of the early Dutch and Huguenot 
settlers. Names like du Toit, Joubert, and van der Merwe are as common as 
Smith, Jones, and Brown at home. The families are very large, ranging 
usually from five to twenty children apiece. There is much intermarrying 
among cousins, one result of which is a marked tendency to insanity or 
weakness of mind. The people are conservative, in many respects very nar- 
row, but kind-hearted and hospitable. More than half the population is 
Hottentot, or a mixture of White and Hottentot. They are a very degraded, 
lifeless sort of people, far inferior to the Kafirs of the Eastern Province. 
Drunkenness and immorality are prevailing vices among them. Many of 
the little children have a delicate brown beauty, but it is evanescent. 

In the winter or rainy season, from April to September, thick clothes 
are necessary, as the houses are not heated ; but vegetables thrive in the 
garden, and snow is utterly unknown, except on the mountain tops. Dur- 
ing the transitional period, September and October, the air is balmy, the 
trees don their fresh leaves, curious tropical flowers of brilliant color or 
heavy perfume line the roadsides, the loveliest roses bloom in the humblest 
gardens, and calla lilies grow wild so abundantly that people feed them to the 
pigs. In the summer, or dry season, the grass and flowers wither and turn 
brown. Apricots, peaches, grapes, apples, pomegranates, guavas, loquarts, 
corn, and tomatoes are abundant. The heat of the sun is intense, but the 
nights and mornings are cool. It is interesting to see how people manage 
without a particle of ice. Water is cooled by putting it into a canvas bag 
and exposing to the sun ; milk is boiled ; butter is of necessity often in a 
half-liquid state. There is a curious fierce wind called southeaster, which 
blows incessantly for several days at a time, at brief intervals, whirling 
clouds of dust, sand, and even small pebbles in its path. In spite of its 
manifest unpleasantness, this wind is highly prized for purifying qualities, 
and has been styled the Cape Doctor. 

In Wellington, all more or less under the supervision of Rev. Andrew 


Murray, are a large Boys' School, a Missionary Training Institute, a Normal 
School, and our Huguenot Seminary for Girls. It is with the last that I am 
connected. Our buildings are of the type previously described, but for the 
most part two stories high. On the first floor of Goodnow Hall are the best 
recitation rooms ; on the second, the whole school meets for chapel, Sunday 
services, and large gatherings in general. We are not aesthetic, either exter- 
nally or internally, and tried by Wellesley standards, the life here would 
seem very crude in many ways ; but we are comfortable, and gradual im- 
provements may be looked forward to. 

There are over three hundred and fifty pupils, coming from all parts of 
South Africa. They are chiefly of Dutch extraction, though there is a large 
sprinkling of'English, Scotch, French, and mixed nationalities, to say noth- 
ing of Kafir and Hottentot strains here and there. They are impulsive, 
affectionate, and very much in earnest about the work, for an education in a 
new country being so much more difficult of attainment than in an old, is 
consequently more highly valued. They are physically robust, but as a rule, 
are sadly lacking in that delicacy and refinement of appearance, manners, and 
tastes, which we take so much for granted at home. 

The classes are large, the greatest number being about thirty-five. In 
age the pupils range from ten to thirty-five. They are doing elementary, 
college preparatory, and college work, as well as special normal training. 
When the present B. A. class takes its degree, we shall be in reality a college. 
The examinations given by the government keep the standards high. The 
advantages of the English system of courses and requirements is its thorough- 
ness, attention to detail being ^emphasized ; the disadvantage is a lack of 
breadth and general culture — a deficiency which each teacher must do her 
best to supply as opportunity offers in her special classes. 

There is much to do along the lines of systematic Bible study, and direct 
religious, missionary, and temperance work, as well as in stimulating the 
girls toward higher ideals both intellectually and spiritually. While many 
are surprised to learn that professing to be a follower of Christ implies truth- 
fulness and honesty, there is certainly a field for work. Often the magnitude 
and difficulty of the task is well-nigh overwhelming, but the thought that 
these girls are going to be the wives, mothers, and teachers of citizens 
throughout South Africa is a great incitement to earnest effort. 


Our Commencement took place in the third week of December. The 
exercises occupied two days. On the first came specimen essays, recitations, 
and musical selections from the various classes, and the laying of the corner 
stone of Cummings Hall, the new college building. The music is particularly 
good here, as the girls who come from' lonely farms are very anxious to get 
as much skill as possible. On the second day came the addresses, grad- 
uation exercises, a dinner, and an out-of-doors reception. Of course every- 
thing was on a much simpler scale than at home, but in general, all went off 
very satisfactorily. The best essay was, "Why she went to College," a 
rather dramatic answering of the various objections brought to bear against 
the higher education of girls. Most of them would seem trite at home, but 
here they must be vigorously combated. 

When the seminary closed, I had the pleasure of spending Christmas 
week with a hospitable Scotch-Dutch family in a suburb of Cape Town. 
Both they and their surroundings seemed " so American" as to be very re- 
freshing. AVe celebrated Christmas day in the usual way, plum-pudding 
and all, though we sat round the table in our thinnest possible garb. 

Cape Town has an enviable situation; stately Table Mountain behind, 
and before the blue waters of Table Bay, said to be much more beautiful than 
the far-famed Bay of Naples. 

During this month of January all of us teachers who have no settled 
abiding place in this land have been at Fish Hoek, where the seminary pro- 
vides a cottage by the sea. Here we bathe in the warm Indian ocean, take 
delightful walks, and become thoroughly rested for the new term beginning 
February first. The view from our stoep or veranda is a glorious bit of blue 
bay and bluer sky ; white sand and whiter house specks ; mountains on all 
sides, those nearby standing out in rugged graudeur, those far away half 
covered by, half melted in, the clouds ; dimly outlined against the distant 
horizon, the very tip of the Cape of Good Hope. Beside our door, pass and 
repass the typical ox wagons ; the animals are so far from strong that three 
yokes seem necessary to drag a small load of bricks. 

We had our first experience in African mountain climbing the other 
day. Equipped with large white " cappies," or sunbonnets, spectacles of 
smoked glass, stout cotton gloves, and canvas rubber-soled shoes, and es- 
corted by an energetic Dutch youth to protect against any possible snakes, 


baboons, and tigers (all of which interesting animals are said not to be quite 
extinct even here) , we plodded on over stones and boulders, through long 
grass and thick underbrush, without any visible path for a greater part of the 
way, till at last, at a height of some 1,800 feet, we emerged on a large grassy 
plateau. Here, following the course of the Stienbras river, we came to a 
beautiful waterfall. The stream dashed down a steep mossy precipice, about 
175 feet high, ending in merry gurgling rivulets or calm brown pools. 
After concocting marvelous coffee in a tin cracker box, we began the 
perilous descent, perilous because the stones would keep slipping under 
our feet, and the mountain side was very steep. We often paused to 
gather heath and white everlastings, or perching on an inviting boulder to 
wonder at the cathedral-like rocks and the picturesque view spread out 
so far below us. 

The other morning we visited two farms, widely different. That of 
Mr. Thunnessen is an old Dutch estate, formerly owned by Governor van 
der Stell. By the roadside are immense camphor trees over two hundred 
years old. The grounds reminded one somewhat of the old Virginia plan- 
tations, so many different kinds of work were being carried on. The old Dutch 
farmhouse, one story high, was extensive and stately enough to have stepped 
out of one of Washington Irving's descriptions. From' the brick stoep we 
entered a large hall, opening in front into a dining room, on the right into 
a parlor, on the left into a sleeping apartment with high canopied beds. 
All were spacious, and both floors and ceilings were of polished wood. The 
walls were covered with a curious wall paper, in which roosters and other 
large fowls seemed to play a prominent part. These rooms thrown open 
afforded admirable scope for a large social gathering, and in imagination we 
saw rosy-cheeked Dutch youths and maidens merrily dancing over the shin- 
ing floor. Such a farmhouse would be an ideal place for a house party, but 
for an all-the-year-round existence must be terribly lonely. 

Sir James Sivewright's model farm, said to be the finest in South Africa, 
is very modern indeed, with its carefully trained vines and hedges, and 
scrupulously regular plots. He has a large variety of flowers and innumer- 
able fruit trees. The oranges aud lemons seemed particularly flourishing. 
The grounds are stocked with pheasants and other valuable birds. The land 
is well watered by irrigation, and as one reclined on a rustic bench beside a 


gently murmuring canal, she participated in the feeling of the lotus 

Chronologically speaking, this is the limit of my present experiences 
and observations, but I must not close without several incidents and anec- 
dotes to show the humorous side of Dutch customs. 

A little Dutch maiden brought me, tenderly wrapped in a fragment of 
rather soiled newspaper, a piece of — dried sausage. Her mother in the distant 
Orange Free State had manufactured the delicacy for her homesick daughter. 
The sausage, alas, out of consideration for my digestion, found its final rest- 
ing place in my waste basket, but the memory of the deed will be more last- 

An old Dutch missionary recently wrote to our principals with regard 
to his daughter who is in the seminary, that he hoped she " would not wear 
corsets, but would have her loins girt about with truth, and put on the breast- 
plate of righteousness." 

I recently attended a Dutch wedding. There was considerable effort at 
"pomp and circumstance," but the unique thing to me was a collection. 
Upon inquiry I found that this was the usual custom. Speaking of customs, 
in church the men usually sit on one side and the women on the other ; the 
men always rise during prayers ; the Lord's Supper is partaken of by the 
men first, then by the women. 

Finally, to illustrate the Dutch propensity for mourning. A beautiful 
young bride appeared in deepest crape just a week after her marriage. One 
of our teachers, remarking with sympathy upon the supposed loss, was in- 
formed that the signs of grief were put on for the grandmother of the hus- 
band's first wife — he had been married three times. 

Alice Welch Kellogg, '94. 



To the Editorial Board of Ninety-eight, our right hearty greeting ! 
Some things we shall have to say to you which may ring coldly of the prac- 
tical, and of hearts once trusting now turned skeptic ; but these shall be kept 
for the privy council of your own ear. We are not going to tell you to be 
good — you don't need it ; nor to urge you to " maintain the standard" — the 
standard has never been reached ; nor to dilate on the beauty of promptness 
— for the contrast of our own example has been convincing. 

Even as we write, the morning breaks (our mornings are notoriously 
fragile), and moves us to speak of brighter things. If you should find 
yourself feeling unaccountably happy as you cry "Greeting!" to Ninety- 
nine, take this word of comfort for pains past, — they might have been 
worse ! For one thing, there is no chamber of horrors connected with 
the Magazine. Time was when we have sighed for a horror — a real gen- 
uine blood-and-thunder. But one day we went to the post office for the 
leading article and the stories that were due, and found an empty box. 
And the horror came ! creeping from post office key to hairpin, from 
hairpin to brain, from reeling brain to trembling knee ! After one such 
experience, the fact that the horror is not a permanent feature of the 
sanctum, becomes a mercy that was hid and is revealed. Nor is our 
good fortune only negative. May blessings be upon the head of Cad- 
mus, the Phoenicians, or whoever it was that invented certain members 
of the library, general office, English . Literature, Rhetoric, Philosophy, 
History, German, Botany, Latin, Mathematics, alumna?, and undergraduate 
departments ! We have met with only kindliness and generosity in ap- 
proaching both Faculty and alumnae, and not infrequently with the same 
weapons in approaching undergraduates. Of this latter body, we love them 
that love us, and some we love very much indeed. But we wish that each 
student whom we do not love could be editor in chief for a month, and 
realize the warm gratitude that person feels to those who help support the 
Magazine, and the absolute dependence of the Magazine on student contri- 
butions. There would never again be dearth of material, or a " poor 


number." But alack ! a very pitiable lack ! of such experience is apparent 
among these undergraduates. Alumnse are better ; and the name of many 
an "old girl" is embalmed in editorial gratitude against some day when we 
shall be glad to serve her if we may. As for the Faculty : it isn't always 
a pleasant thing to ask for leading articles ; no one is more painfully aware 
than the editor of the fact that Faculty zeal for writing leading articles is 
several degrees below zero ; yet we have been invariably received as if we 
were conferring an honor by asking, and sometimes as if the Faculty were 
suffering acutely in refusing. Only an occasional eagerness to be generous, 
"in honor preferring one another," has ever betrayed that sacrifice was the 
basis of acquiescence. 

It is what comes unasked, however, that causes the thrill unrivalled of 
joyful surprise and gratitude, the sense of ' ' man-weiss-nicht-was-noch-bliihen- 
mag," and keeps an editor happy for a week. It may be an item, even the 
tiniest, or a suggestion of something it might be well to notice or put in, or 
perhaps just the mention, by a friend, of something in the last issue that she 
liked ; and occasionally it has been more than any of these. To each one 
who has shown us such spontaneous kindnesses, we would say again how 
grateful her cordiality was, and how sincerely we thank her for it. To her 
continued graciousness we commend you, Ninety-eight ! 

With these goods from the gods you are not likely to be less favored 
than we have been ; and now, at the risk of trespassing on your patience, we 
would dare promise you yet a few things worth having : a little valuable 
business experience ; new insight into what it means to get out even a small 
periodical ; practice in saying what you mean and meaning what you say ; a 
constant stimulus to be alive to many different phases of this College life, 
and to learn about the life of other colleges ; and the better love and loyalty 
to our own Alma Mater which these things teach. We can wish you no bet- 
ter wish than that editorial experience may add as much to the richness of 
your loss in leaving college as it adds to ours. 


We must apologize to both Vassar and Wellesley for a mistake in the 
sixth editorial of our February issue. In the first place, the comparisons 


made in that editorial were said to be drawn from the catalogues of '95-96. 
This was the case for all the colleges but Vassar ; but for Vassar, by a care- 
less mistake, we took our statistics from the catalogue of '94-95. These 
statistics were as follows: students, 485; faculty, 45; courses, 156, of 
which 124 were for one half year only; hours required for graduation, 57.5 
or 58. But by misuse of decimals, we made a serious misstatement of 
the proportion of students to faculty ; 485 students to 45 faculty give 10.77 
students to each instructor, not 17.7 as we said. The actual facts for Vassar 
in the year '95-96 are these : number of students, 538 ; of faculty, 47 ; 
making 11.45 students to each instructor, a proportion little greater than 
the 9.9 at Wellesley ; 153 courses were offered, of which 130 were for a 
single semester only ; the number of hours required for graduation were 
57.5 or 58. We are heartily sorry and ashamed to have confounded our two 
catalogues ; but glad to be able to assure our readers that the remaining 
statistics were valid. We have taken pains to verify them again. In the 
eighth editorial, on scholarships, etc., facts concerning Vassar, as well as 
other colleges, were taken, as claimed, from the calendar for '95-96. 

To Smith, too, we would bow our humbled head. We said there was 
no mention of health provisions in the Smith announcements, and gath- 
ered from this that Northampton physicians were employed. But on page 
31 of the calendar for '95-96 we read: "The health of the students is 
cared for by the resident physician. . . . She may be consulted without 
charge. . . . No one is thereby precluded from employing the physicians of 
the city." These remarks are incorporated with announcements of courses 
of instruction, and it was thus that we thought we could not find them. 
But we realize the gravity of allowing facts to escape us, and are heartily 
sorry and ashamed to have thus misrepresented our fellow-colleges. 


Miss Ellen Hinsdale, daughter of Professor Hinsdale, of Ann Arbor, 
received last week her Ph.D. from the University of Gottingen. This is the 
first time that the authorities at the Gottingen University have allowed a 
woman to try for the degree in Philology, a department which, in Gottingen, 
requires an unusually thorough and laborious preparation. The case was, 


moreover, complicated by the violent resistance offered by one of the pro- 
fessors of Philolosrv, against letting a woman take the Ph.D. in his sacred 
department. He tried everything in his power to prevent the catastrophe, 
but, fortunately, failed in his efforts. Professor Heyne, under whose direc- 
tion Miss Hinsdale wrote her thesis, expresses the highest regard for her 
work in his department. Since Miss H. holds one of the intercollegiate fel- 
lowships this year, her marked success will be especially gratifying to Amer- 
ican college women. 


Sunday, February 28, was the hundredth anniversary of the birth of 
Mary Lyon, founder of Mt. Holyoke College, and one of the most remark- 
able women of her own or any day. The spirit of a Jeanne d'Arc was upon 
her ; her cause was the education of women ; her enemies indifference and 

Just seven years before her birth, girls had been admitted for the first 
time to the public schools of Massachusetts. Massachusetts' boys had been 
having public schools for fifty-five years ! Not only schools ; they had col- 
leges also ; when Mary Lyon reached womanhood, there were in the United 
States more than sixty institutions with at least the name of college, for men 
— none for women. Fired with an inspiration to educate her sex, she began 
to beg funds for her " Seminary" that was to be. In the buggy of a long- 
headed old doctor friend she drove from farm to farm in her own county, 
pleading her case with an eloquence that often produced startling results. 
Promises of homespun sheets and blankets, or of pieces of furniture, were 
given by housewives who had not ready money ; and money gifts ranged 
from six cents upwards. Twenty dollars was considered munificent. 

The inertia Avhich she had to overcome was enough to have discour- 
aged a heart less passionately bound up in its desire. But hers, she 
writes, "has yearned over the young women in the common walks of life, 
till it has seemed as though a fire were shut up in my bones." And the 
magnetism of her sympathy, the singleness of her purpose, the majesty of 
her physical presence, won her battle. About three years after she began 
her work the foundations of Mt. Holyoke Seminary were laid. On its com- 


pletion Mary Lyon was made president, and this office she held until her 

The influence she exerted over the girls was, as might have been ex- 
pected, strangely compelling. Miss Howard, the first president of Welles- 
ley, entered Mt. Holyoke four years after Mary Lyon's death, and she says 
of her, that so vivid was the impress of her personality on the Seminary, 
that she (Miss Howard) can hardly believe she has never really known her ; 
even to the abundant dark auburn hair, and the wonderful eyes, and almost 
the very tones of her voice, the picture of the first president stood out in 
the student mind with life-like clearness. 


That the standard of the new " Seminary " was necessarily far less than 
collegiate will be evident when we consider that thirty-eight years later, in 
1875, when Wellesley was opened, only forty or fifty among more than three 
hundred girls who came here from all over the country ' ' prepared " for college, 
were able to take up the work of even our earliest curriculum. Yet Wellesley 
was begun after Mary Lyon's seminary had been almost sixty years in exis- 
tence, and Vassar had reached its teens. Indeed, it was largely that he might 
improve on the opportunities offered by Mt. Holyoke, that Mr. Durant 
founded Wellesley. Mary Lyon had been many years dead ; the seminary 
had not developed into a college. Had Mt. Holyoke consented at this time 
to raise its standard to one vying in severity with those of men's colleges, 
Wellesley might never have been. But Faculty conservatism refused to con- 
sider such a step, and thus it was that Mr. Durant, a friend to Mt. Holyoke, 
crowned Mary Lyon's work by founding Wellesley, whose standard was to 
be equal to that of the best men's colleges. 

Mt. Holyoke's attainment was Wellesley's starting place. Mt. Holyoke 
was a seminary; Wellesley, too, although her charter was almost immedi- 
ately changed to its present form, was chartered as a " seminary." And 
Wellesley, too, had students fit for the most part for only preparatory school 
work. But Mr. Durant's policy with regard to these students was new. 
Instead of accommodating the standard to the girls, he trained the girls to 
meet the standard. He allowed a preparatory department, into which he 


put all the students except the forty who were ready for collegiate work. 
This department was conducted side by side with the collegiate, in the 
Main Building, until in the course of four years it was crowded out by 
the growth of the collegiate department. By this method of separating 
the prepared from the unprepared, Mr. Durant, instead of accommodating 
the College standard to patrons, led patrons gradually to accommodate 
themselves to the standard. 


These facts of Wellesley's relation to Mt. Holyoke and Mary Lyon 
came to us from Miss Howard, the first president of Wellesley. On Satur- 
day, February 20, she came as a guest to the Eliot, to be present at a cele- 
bration of Mr. Durant's birthday ; and on Sunday afternoon a crowd of girls 
gathered about her in the Eliot parlor, and plied her till nightfall with ques- 
tions about the early days. Some of what she told us then we recorded, 
and parts of our record we should like to give our readers. 

When, two years before the college opened, the plans for the main 
building appeared in one of the illustrated periodicals, the country was 
amazed and incredulous. They seemed like plans for fairyland — too beauti- 
ful to be realized. "All that for women?" was the constant refrain. When 
the college finally opened, and " fairyland" was found to be no myth, public 
interest did not lessen. " The great moral show," people called the college, 
with its students and its domestic work ; and they came in crowds to see it. 
From two hundred to two hundred and fifty was the average number of 
guests shown over the building on recreation day. Indeed, so free did they 
make with " the great moral show," that a sign had finally to be posted on 
the front door: "Please ring the bell!" The great stream of curiosity 
hunters was not the least of the considerations that resulted finally in chang- 
ing "recreation day" from Saturday to Monday, because on Monday fewer 
sight-seers were abroad. 

The College opened with absolutely no rules. "What!" said Mr. 
Durant, when, two years earlier he was visiting Miss Howard at her own 
school — " What ! a school without rules ! Do you really mean to say you 
are running such a school?" " Yes," Miss Howard answered ; and she intro- 
duced the same plan at Wellesley. But complications arose ; and out of 


these complications and difficulties there grew a code of regulations, result- 
ant of a curious combination of influences — circumstances, pleadings of 
the students themselves, and trustee pressure. Here was this great Main 
Building, full of people, all strangers to each other. Any one of them might 
be lost to the ken of her fellows for days together, if she should happen to 
fall ill in a room to herself, or stray off while out walking. The simplest 
way, the only practicable way, of keeping track of addresses, so to speak, 
was to ask the teacher at each table to see that all her table was present to 
meals. This was therefore done, and thus arose, out of bare necessity, a 
" rule," at thought of which our hair, in its ignorance, has long risen on end. 
The main building stood alone in forest grounds, where the thick underbrush 
grew unbroken for rods along the tiny paths. On the road between Welles- 
ley and South Natick, immediately adjoining the grounds, hundreds of 
foreign workmen were being employed on the town water works. They 
were men of the lowest sort, and they infested the college grounds. 
Once or twice the girls were chased by them. Sometimes as many as 
seventeen of these men would be met in the course of an hour's walk in 
our own woods. It became necessary, for safety's sake, to ask the girls 
not to frequent certain parts of the grounds except in companies of several 
at a time. 

But enemies were not all from without. Before the end of that first 
year, "fairyland" became overrun with mice, intent on the " boxes" with 
which loving mammas kept their student girls supplied. This state of 
things is much easier to bear now than then, when the freshness and beauty 
of the house was still immaculate. The girls were asked to receive no eat- 
ables from home except fresh fruit ; but the significance of ' ' fresh fruit " was 
found to be wider and vaguer than Mr. Durant and Miss Howard had sup- 
posed. As a generic term it covered potted ham and doughnuts, pickles 
and cake. Crumbs, mice, and grease-spots multiplied too rapidly for for- 
bearance ; the students were asked at last to keep no more fresh fruit in 
their rooms. 

In those days every girl did what was right in her own eyes. But 
before very long many of them began to beg for some time that might be 
specially reserved for study, when they might work secure from interruption ; 
and for an hour when everyone might reasonably be asked to go to bed and 


let the house be quiet. That was the origin of the old study hours and the 
ten o'clock rule. Silent time came first from the authorities, but it was not 
less a matter of general consent than the two rules just mentioned. It was a 
rather poetically conceived modification of the old Mt. Holyoke "half 
hours," two daily periods of half an hour each, which each girl was supposed 
to spend in solitude and quiet. Mt. Holyoke girls valued the custom ; but 
there was no unanimity about these "half hours," and they were pretty 
long. Our " silent time" was simply a twenty-minute period in the even- 
ing, when everyone was supposed to be in her room and quiet ; and we have 
heard old students bear witness that the hush over the house was complete. 
They testify, too, that the girls would not have had it otherwise. 

Indeed, there seems to have been no more compulsion in the old life 
than in our own. There were, to be sure, more rules ; but the " must" of a 
rule is never felt until the rule ceases to fit ; and those rules, on the whole, 
fitted those girls. Two or three little anecdotes may be quoted as significant 
of the student attitude toward the more important of the rules. 

Some Virginia girls were on their way home for the Christmas holi- 
days. It was evening on the train. They were in the midst of a gale 
of talk and laughter, when one of them suddenly looked at her watch. 
"It's silent time at Wellesley now," she said. Instantly a hush fell, and 
through the period the girls sat without speaking. When such a thing 
as this could happen, silent time must have meant something to the 

After the students were asked to give up having even ' ' fresh fruit " in 
their rooms, a large and elaborate cake was sent to one of the girls. She 
was a popular lady, and the cake was a wonder to behold. She wanted very 
much to give a spread ; so she spread a paper under the bed and put the box 
on it. Next morning she gave the cake, uncut, to some one outside of the 
College. The gentleman who told Miss Howard of this, several years after it 
happened, added : " And I made up my mind that if Wellesley turned out 
women with characters like that, I'd send every one of my daughters there, 
even if I had a dozen." Now if there had not been a fairly widespread 
acquiescence in the rule, that cake would probably have been eaten in 
College ; had the owner herself been too conscientious, her friends would 
not have been. 


Nor can we believe that the prohibition of theatre and opera was against 
the feeling of most of the students. Mr. Durant's own convictions on the 
subject were so strong, and he talked so frankly and sincerely with the girls 
about it, that the actual state of the case was not that the girls were pining 
to go, and forbidden ; but that, as a College, they felt and thought with 
him. He influenced them to avoid such places of their own free will. Es- 
pecially during the famous scarlet-fever quarantine, he used to talk about it 
to the little handful of girls who were not in hospital. Night after night 
in the sitting room, as they called our " reception room," did they use 
to discuss it ; and Mr. Durant made his case. One girl, who had been to the 
theatre and opera all her life, told Miss Howard, after a vacation: "My 
brother wanted me to go to the theatre with him, while I was at home, just 
as we used to do, and I could not. To do it just because I was away from 
College on a holiday seemed terribly sneaky. I couldn't make him see it 
my way, and he got very angry with me. Afterwards I thought maybe I 
had done wrong, that I might have helped my brother by going with him ; 
for he went, anyhow. But I just couldn't." This surely was not obedience 
to law under compulsion ! 

The poor president, meanwhile, was attacked on one hand for the loose- 
ness of the rein, on the other for the tightness of the bit. Parent Jones 
would write: "My daughter has always been under the guidance of her 
mother. I wish very much that you would keep her more constantly under 
your eye at Wellesley." And in the same mail Parent Smith : " My daughter 
has been used to being her own mistress at home, and I don't see why she 
can't be trusted to look after herself at Wellesley College." Nor could the 
outside world curb its curiosity concerning the great moral show. What 
they could not find out they invented, and we have been shocked to dis- 
cover a likelihood that many of our own impressions of former strictness are 
due, not so much to the facts of the case, as to the inventive genius of out- 
siders. " A nunnery," they said. "Such beautiful grounds, but the girls 
allowed to walk only in certain little prescribed parts!" "And pious! 
Why, the teachers go around the corridors kneeling down outside of the open 
transoms and praying for the girls inside." A woman actually told Miss 
Howard of this custom of Wellesley teachers as a fact. Miss Howard told 
Mr. Durant. "What sort of a reputation for religion do you suppose we 


have?" she said. " I only wish we had any ! " was his reply. " "Well, we 
have one," she said, " and I think you'll be highly gratified to hear it. Did 
you realize the zeal of your teachers — that they go around and pray for the 
girls, kneeling in the corridors beside the open transoms?" "I wish to 
Heaven they wanted to ! " cried Mr. Durant. 

We venture to say that that custom sounds not half so improbable to 
some of us as it sounded to Miss Howard and Mr. Durant. Where did we 
get our distorted ideas of the past ? 

One more story we would like to tell — the story of the Wellesley bells. 
Fairyland was tricked out with bells electric, but when supper time came, 
that first evening, and all the strange throng was scattered through the 
building, the bells refused to work. Something must be done. Colonel 
James Soutter, of Boston, a cousin of Mrs. Dui'ant, was playing about, 
a handsome little fellow of some nine years. " James," said the president, 
" wouldn't you and Eobert like to ring the bell for supper? Go to the 
kitchen and ask Mrs. Hurd for two tin pans and the two biggest iron cook- 
ing spoons she has. You take one and Robert the other. Start at the 
fourth floor, each taking one half of the house, and come down, ringing the 
bell as you go." Thus supper was called. Afterwards Mr. Durant went 
bell hunting, and returned with something which had, to be sure, the sem- 
blance of a bell, but no voice. " This will never do," said the president. 
"All these people have to be waked to-morrow morning, and called to 
breakfast, and to classes all through the day. Isn't there a bell on the place 
that we could use?" Mr. Durant thought of one, he said ; but it was noth- 
ing but an old barn bell that he had put up to call the men in from work ; 
it was covered with dust and rust, and absolutely out of the question. " Can 
it make a noise ? " Oh, yes ! it could make a noise ; but it could not be 
wanted. Nevertheless, it was wanted, the president insisted. So four men, 
grinning at the thought, were sent to the barn for the bell, and brought it 
back, triumphant. But dirt}' ! the four scoured it for an hour and a half. 
It was put up then, and used next morning, and for six years to follow. At 
the end of that time, the Japanese bell was presented to the College. This 
was a prize ; it came from a Japanese temple, and had power to ward off" evil 
spirits. It was put up in its frame, in the third floor centre, and great care 
was taken to strike it, as the Japanese did, on the inside. Pity that we, of 


later days, have seen it scarred by blows on the outside ! As for the old 
barn bell, this was taken to Stone Hall. There it hangs yet. The master- 
clock in the first floor centre, which now controls our electric bell system, 
was put in last summer in memory of Miss Shafer, by Ninety-three, the last 
class who graduated during her presidency of the College. The Japanese 
bell rings only at rising hour in the morning. From the naivete of tin pans, 
to the complex automatism of master clocks ! Evolution indeed. 


In this Magazine are published the results of the prize story contest, the 
first held here for many years. We feel that our attempt to get at some of 
the latent possibilities known to exist among busy undergraduates has not 
been wholly unsuccessful. Four of the eighteen stories received are pub- 
lished in this number. Three came out last month. Others will appear, we 
trust, at the discretion of the new editors. The first prize of ten dollars, 
awarded to the story, " The Dwarf of the Fourth Ward," was found to be- 
long to Lucy B. Allen, '97. Two stories presented themselves worthy, in 
the opinion of the judges, of the second prize. " Jim Kempner," and " The 
Friendship of Ann," are so totally different in subject and treatment that it 
seemed impossible to compare or to choose between them. The judges 
therefore cut the knot by awarding a second prize of five dollars to each. 
Agatha J. Sonna, '99, wrote the former. Another '99, with deprecatory 
modesty, pleads guilty upon challenge to "The Friendship of Ann," but 
says she doesn't want the prize. She would rather not have it than have her 
name published in connection with the story. However, we must all bear 
the consequences of our deeds, and since she entered the competition, we — 
give any of you leave to guess, as we did, who M. C. K. S. is. One more 
story, " The Spirit of the Law," a close second to the prize stories in favor, 
we publish with a word of praise and appreciation for its author, Anna E. 
Wolfson, '99. 

With this record of a last attempt to bring out something of that power 
to accomplish good work which we have felt about us all along, and have 
sometimes found it so hard to reach, the board of '97 lays down its editorial 



Since the past midyear's, some of us know a good deal move about our 
academic standing than we ever did before. The "credit," or r:ither " dis- 
credit " notes are out, and many people know what indifferent records they 
have made in certain subjects. Now I want to urge the advantages of a fur- 
ther step, that is, of informing people how well they have done in other sub- 
jects ; in short, of giving each student access to her academic record. 

Such a step would violate no principle which the College has not already 
overturned in the establishment of the credit system. This system already 
distinguishes three grades of standing ; what if five grades were distinguished 
instead of three ? The only difference would be that a more definite grading 
would be of great help to a student's work, whereas the present "credit" 
distinction is of practically none. 

I believe in this advantage for the following reason : As it is, the stu- 
dent has no possible way of judging her own work and its success. She 
cannot have the calm outsider's view of her work ; the personal element of 
self-depreciation or perhaps of over-estimation usually enters into her sur- 
vey ; she imagines herself either much above or much below her actual stan- 
dard, most often, I think, the latter. She works, actually, in the dark, try- 
ing, if she is ambitious, to reach a high standard of scholarship with which 
she has no means of comparing her own work. Nor can she definitely im- 
prove upon her work as time goes on ; for she has no clear or fixed estimate 
of the earlier work, to go on. I can think of no better phrase to describe 
the situation than the one I have already used, — working in the dark. There 
is nothing so wearing as uncertainty, and the result is the natural one. If 
there is about the girls the harassed and worn studiousness of which we 
hear, I hold this condition of ' ' the mystery of records " largely to blame for it. 

It is argued, of course, that the publication of the records would foster a 
spirit of rivalry and of working for the marks themselves instead of the 
work. In the first place, the records need not be posted on class bulletins 
where my D's would contrast painfully with my neighbor's A's. Each record 
might be as private as the up-to-date discredit note. Then secondly, the 
spirit of " working for marks" will exist in all sorts of conditions, and peo- 


pie can be just as sordid and vain in seeking general class room pre-eminence 
as if they had before them the concrete aim of an A in Latin Prosody. 

I must urge my chief point once more, because I want you to see the 
matter as I do. It is the secrecy about the system of credit, discredit, and 
conditions, that makes people worry over examinations and papers. If it 
were made an open matter, not only would we learn to take these things 
more calmly and reasonably, but the general tone of work would become, in 
most cases, I believe, more scholarly and satisfactory to the instructors and 
to the students. 

If any innovation of this kind should come, it would have to be through 
the initiative of a strong desire among the students. So if you believe as I 
do, I hope you will follow me with an expression of opinion in the Magazine. 

H., '97. 


Sir George Tressady, by Mrs. Humphrey Ward. The Macmillan 
Company, London and New York, 1896. 2 vols. Price, $2.00. 

" Sir George Tressady" is, in all probability, the novel of the year best 
known to ordinary readers. Like all of Mrs. Ward's books, it deals with 
English life of our own day. The scene is laid in London, for the greater 
part of the time, with an occasional change to the retirement of a country 
house, in order that the turmoil of the city and the strain of Parliamentary 
battle may not weary the reader. The characters are many, and all drawn 
with equal strength. Marcella, so well known to all readers of Mrs. Ward, 
is the heroine of this later work, and her character, equally with that of Sir 
George Tressady, furnishes the strong interest of the book. Her new role, 
that of the great minister's wife, merging all other desires in her efforts for 
her husband's political success, will not disguise the old Marcella from those 
who learned to admire her three years ago. The principal personages of 
the earlier story, too, appear in this work to form the little court of the 
great lady in her political life in London. 

Sir George Tressady, the hero, is a young Englishman, clever, intelli- 
gent, a man of ability, but unable, through misfortune and want of self- 
knowledge, to make a success of anything he attempts, — Parliament, mar- 


riage, or life itself. His efforts and struggles, as Mrs. Ward gives them to 
us, furnish fine examples of the work of the modern psychological fiction. 

The book, as a whole, is distinctively a work of our own time. The 
scene is laid in the life of the day ; the problems, political and social, with 
which Mrs. Ward deals, are the problems which vex our generation, and the 
author's method of work is notably modern. " Sir George Tressady " is a 
book which the admirers of Mrs. Ward will recognize as thoughtful, well- 
constructed, and interesting, and which well sustains the fame won by her 
earlier books. 

The Sealskin Cloak, by Rolf Bolderwood. The Macmillan Company, 
London and New York, 1896. Price, $1.25. 

" The Sealskin Cloak" is a story of domestic life and of travel, told by 
the author with little attention to literary form, but with a great and evident 
romantic love of story-telling for its own sake. The first ninety pages of 
the book carry the reader very far in the fortunes and misfortunes of the 
Gordon family, and show a notable power of condensation which one would 
be glad to see exercised through the remaining four hundred and fifteen 
pages. American readers will probably find the long account of Mrs. 
Gordon's stay in Egypt and visit to Australia less interesting than it has 
appeared to the author himself. 

Story of the Nations Series: British India, Canada. G. P. Putnam's 
Sons, New York, 1897. Price, $1.50 each. 

These last two volumes of this excellent series of elementary histories 
quite sustain the reputation made by the earlier numbers. The volume on 
British India has been prepared by R. W. Frazer, late of the Indian Civil 
Service, and now lecturer on Telugu and Tamil in the Imperial Institute in 

"The Story of Canada" is written by Mr. J. G. Bourinot, the clerk 
of the Canadian House of Commons, the author of several works on the 
Constitutional History of Canada. This book is especially valuable in that 
it is the only brief handbook of Cauadian history that is at once comprehen- 
sive and thoroughly trustworthy. It has the added recommendation of 
being clearly planned and well written. The bibliographical note prefixed 
will commend itself to students as a decidedly valuable addition, even to so 
elementary a work as can be comprised within one volume of such a series. 


American Orations: Studies in American Political History. Edited 
by Alexander Johnston and re-edited by James Albert Woodburn. Vols. 
III. and IV. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1897. $1.25. 

These two volumes form the last of a four volume collection of Ameri- 
can orations. The orations are arranged chronologically under the heads of 
the political issues which called them forth. The first two volumes con- 
tained notable speeches on colonialism, constitutional government, rise of 
democracy and of nationality, and the antislavery movement. The third 
volume gives speeches on the last phases of the antislavery conflict, and on 
secession. The fourth consists of orations on modern questions, reconstruc- 
tion, free trade and protection, finance, and civil service reform. On the 
antislavery struggle are, among others, addresses by Chase, Douglas, Sum- 
ner, Seward, and Lincoln ; on the question of secession by Wade, Critten- 
den, Tombs, and Davis. Bearing upon the great reconstruction problem 
are orations by Lincoln, Davis, Stephens, Pendleton, Stevens, and Ray- 
mond, selected to give a representation of each reconstruction theory. On 
free trade and protection are Clay and Hurd ; on finance and civil service 
reform, Blaine, Sherman, Jones, Curtis, and Sohurz. As a preface to each 
general question, Professor Johnston has given a short historical account of 
its origin and development in American politics. Professor Woodburn has 
added a series of textual notes at the end of each volume, explaining and 
commenting upon obscure or critical passages in the orations contained 
therein. As a whole, these books seem to be cax*efully and sensibly pre- 
pared. They present in convenient form interesting material, which other- 
wise might not be found without investigation of Congressional records or 
files of reports, and they are sure to prove very useful for reference. 

Morality and the Belief in the Supernatural. International Journal of 
Ethics, January, 1897. By Prof. Eliza Ritchie. 

All members of the College, past and present, will also be interested in 
Dr. Ritchie's answers to an article by Prof. Otto Pfleiderer, of Berlin, on a 
similar subject in the November, 1896, and January, 1897, numbers of the 
Philosophical Review. But this article will suffice to give us her position 
on the matter. 

The question is the influence of religious belief on ethical progress and 
ethical standards, but for the sake of clearness she confines it to the influence 


of belief in the supernatural, — in an entity or entities, a force or forces, in 
some sort lying outside of or transcending the facts, whether of mind or 
matter, which constitute what we call the world of nature. The origin of 
moral distinctions, she holds, does not lie in a supposed supernatural sphere. 
The source of the crude morality of the savage is to be found, not in his 
religious creed, but primarily in his blind and instinctive devotion to mere 
custom. The moral standard develops along two lines, — the instinctive, 
where the standard is the customary, and the rational, where the standard is 
the useful. But although the first steps in moralization are almost certainly 
taken independently of the religious creed, there are two ways in which the 
belief in the supernatural has had an influence on ethical progress ; first, by 
modifying the content of the moral law, and so determining the ethical 
standard ; secondly, by affording an iucentive to obedience to this law and 
to the effort to realize the ideal, — that is, by providing a sanction. 

The ethical standard has been affected by supernaturalism in some dis- 
advantageous ways. Where undue prominence has been given to ceremonial 
observances, and foolish, cruel, and degrading ceremonies have been ranked 
as duties, as supernaturalism has expressed itself among savage nations, the 
moral judgment has been warped and an unworthy standard of conduct 
maintained. Then again, in the intense realization of the supernatural, it is 
difficult to avoid the conclusion that others ought to be forced, if necessary, 
to hold the same religious faith with one's self. Alon£ with this has come 
the danger of attaching a higher ethical value to the acceptance of particular 
opinions than to the free and unbiased search for truth. 

But religious belief has doubtless helped to raise humanity to a higher 
moral plane by representing the supreme object of worship not only as the 
source of moral order, but as its fullest exemplification and realization. 
Thus stability is given to the ethical ideal, and it is presented to the imagi- 
nation in a concrete form, while yet invested with the nrvstery and glory of 
a power superhuman and supreme. 

The influence of the supernatural has been greatest, however, in the 
sanction it has afforded to ethics. On account of the very slow and gradual 
growth of the conception of a purely moral motive for the moral life, extra 
ethical sanctions have been necessary. Supernaturalism has lent a powerful 
aid to the discipline necessary to the development of a moral life. The cul- 


prit recognizes in the supernatural avenger a more powerful and far-reaching 
authority than that of man not only in this life, but beyond the grave. In 
the higher code of morals introduced by Christianity there is an approxima- 
tion to a purely ethical sanction, since, in so far as the conception of the 
Divine Being is identified with that of the ethical ideal, the motive becomes 
the recognition of that pleasure which exists for the perfectly moralized con- 
sciousness in a good action, and of pain that it feels in a bad one. 

Since the religious sanction is not essential to morality in its higher 
development, but is only an extra moral sanction, there seems to be no 
ground for the supposition that were the belief in the supernatural to disap- 
pear, an annihilation of ethical distinctions or the elimination of all induce- 
ment to good conduct must result. Yet there might occur a decline in 
morality, owing to the taking away of a powerful motive, which deters ordi- 
nary man from wrong-doing. For the nobler minds motives quite indepen- 
dent of supernatural support would lead to lives of purity, honor, and benev- 
olence ; but for the " weaker brethren," we may fear any sudden disturbance 
of sanctions that help to hedge them in to the straight and narrow path of 
duty. The awakening of the instinct of supernaturalism belonged to the 
earliest dawn of human life, and we need not anticipate that it will disappear 
either suddenly or soon. 


Story of the Nations Series: Canada, British India. G. P. Put- 
nam's Sons, New York, 1897. Price, $1.50. 

American Orations, Vols. III. and IV. Edited with Introduction by 
Alexander Johnston, late Professor of jurisprudence in the College of New 
Jersey ; re-edited with historical and textual notes, by Prof. J. A. Wood- 
burn, of Indiana University. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1897. 
Price, $1.25 per volume. 

The Sealskin CloaJc, by Rolf Bolderwood. Macmillan Company, New 
York and London, 1896. Price, $1.50. 

Sir George Tressady, by Mrs. Humphrey Ward. Macmillan Com- 
pany, New York and London, 1896. 

With the Trade Winds, by Ira Nelson Morris. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
New York and London, 1897. Price, $1.25. 



The excitement of Magazine Board elections is apparent in many of the 
February exchanges, and reminds us that this is one of the last pieces of 
work for us, too, as Wellesley Editors. It makes our interest in the ex- 
change table a little closer, because they are soon to pass from our hands 
into those of '98. 

The Bachelor of Arts, published in New York by a board of college 
alumni, attracts our attention particularly. It is published under the auspices 
of an advisory board of our various universities, and states its aim as "to 
bring out a really first-class literary magazine for college graduates." A 
publication of this kind may fill a very useful place, as there are man}' affairs 
of common interest to collegians which may be here, and here only, dis- 
cussed with perfect fitness. 

In the February issue we notice especially "Imperial Berlin," and an 
article on the history of " Canada's Colleges." 

The /Smith Monthly gives a bright glimpse of Professor and Mrs. Max 
Muller at home in Oxford. There is also an interesting paper by Miss Coe 
on " Plato's Symposium." We wish its author might make a similar study 
of the " Phfedrus," which complements the former, and as we have always 
thought, gives the Platonic love-doctrine in the glory of first conception as 
the heavenly vision of truth and beauty. 

Here are two stanzas from a bright piece of verse called ' ' The Wonder 

Child :— 

Hand in hand with the gladsome day 
I'd wander, and ever farther away, 
Riding the clouds — now white, now gray — 

Until we came, 
Wandering down the path of gold 
That leads to the hills, beyond the wold 
Where the sun has driven his flocks to fold — 

And the sky is aflame. 
And when into sunset land I came, 
Wandering into that city of fame, 
With its purple splendor, its crimson flame, 

And its scarlet hue, 
Down its wonderful ways I'd go — 
From golden glory to crimson glow — 
Till the winds of night began to blow 

E'en this city through. — Smith Monthly. 


In the University of Virginia Magazine we note a sad story, ' ' A 
Moonshine Tragedy," and a good critique of Chapman in "The Hero and 
Leander Motif in English Literature." If it is permissible we would like to 
protest against the tone of "Under the Pines." It has some of Byron's 
bad points, and an untrue ring throughout. Even college verse ought to be 
better than that. 

One pleasing point about The Red and Blue is its illustrations, which 
are very well done. Two attractive articles are " Stray Impressions of 
Oxford," and " Letters Written from Cuba." 

The Yale Lit. publishes its prize essay, on " Emerson as a Poet," 
written by Alexander Wheeler. It is a clear cut, well thought out 
piece of work. We add, for the pleasure of our readers, the last para- 

But more wonderful than any one note in Emerson's poetry is the sustained elevation of 
the whole. Some have said there is no progress in his thought. How could there be? "He is 
a prisoner on his peak." For him to take another step, says John Burroughs, would he to 
step off. But if he cannot go up, he will not come down. There are no lower moods, no 
meaner moments in his song. If such he has, he deems them not worthy to be told. Critics 
complain that he says naught of sin, of sorrow, and of death. No, if he cannot strike the note 
of cheer, he will let the harp be dumb. And if it seems to be something quite unique that one 
man should never have wrought less than his best, let us remember, too, his life — itself a poem, 
melodious, serene, and high. If ugly things never find their way into his verse, it is because 
ugly things were never mentioned at his board, and had no place in his heart. James Paissell 
Lowell says that it is far harder to put beautiful thoughts into a life than into a book. It 
was Emerson's great lot not only to have struck his chords, but to have drawn his daily 
breath, in that clear upper air to which most of us can only rise in rare, although immortal, 

In the same number we find a strong, simple story, " Kolan's Daugh- 
ter." Its atmosphere and setting is new to most of us, but the human nature 
in it is sincere and real. " Ann'bel," and " Le Roi du Mont Blanc," are 
both bright and well told. 

The Columbia Literary Monthly for January has a handsome new 
cover. Within we find an excellent paper on "Mr. Pater's 'Gaston de 
Latour.'" "Moonlight Boating" has good color and description, but can 
hardly lay claim to sonnet structure. It would be better in blank verse. 

The Vassar Miscellany gives several bright sketches, among which arc 
"A Wedding," and "In the Florist's." "The Associate Alumna? of Vas- 
sar College" gives an interesting account of the efforts of the Alumine for 



the College from the early days. We especially recommend to all the Kip 
lingesque clatter in " Points of View." We add — 


Wandering night-wind 

Singing aloud, 
Deep from the breast of some 

White flitting cloud. 

Over the mountains, 

Over the hills, 
Echoing voice of the 

Wild-throated rills. 

Where the sea-father 

Gathereth his sheep 
And the mermaidens softly 

Smile in their sleep, 

Where the star-fairies 

Dance to the moon, 
Lightly thou hummest a 

Wildly sweet tune. 

When the mist-robed 

Dawn from afar, 
Blowing her bugle-call, 

■Leaps from her car, 

Then from thy wanderings 

On folded wings 
Thou floatest to dreamland, 

And day wakes and sings. — Vassar Miscellany. 


Your feet will tread where once her footsteps light 
Brightened the fir-gloom of the forest's heart; 

Your ears will hear the pine-tree all the night 

Whisper you songs of that far-fled delight 
In which their children now can have no share nor part. 

The forests fair are left; perhaps they tell 
Of those lost days, filled to the brim with peace; 

Of cattle browsing on the hill-side's swell 
Waiting the song of her in the City of Surcease. 

Perhaps the stunted fruit of one lone tree 
Still marks the blooming orchard on the hill. 

No more its path will hear the minstrelsy 
Of dancing feet, to music no merrier than their will 


Then in the quiet of this holy land, 

Most holy made by one true woman's love, 
Close by the side of Druid hemlocks stand, 

While all the air breathes low from the blue heaven above, 

And read this story of those days long passed 

In that lone valley; where the restless sea 
Mourns for Evangeline, until the last 

"All Saints' Day's" peace shall rest on Arcadie. 

-Trinity Tablet. 


Saturday, Mar. 6. — Barn Swallows. 

Sunday, Mar. 7. — Prof. Borden P. Bowne. Mrs. N. M. Waterbury : 

Monday, Mar. 8. — Concert. 

Saturday, Mar. 13. — Mr. F. A. Hill, 4.15 p. m. Lecture on Hamlet, 
Mr. Southwick, 7.30 p. m. 

Sunday, Mar. 14. — Bishop Potter. 

Monday, Mar. 15. — Reading, James Lane Allen. 

Saturday, Mar. 20. — Richard Burton, 4.15 p. m. Barn Swallows. 

Sunday, Mar. 21. — Bishop Hurst. 

Monday, Mar. 22. — Concert. 


A meeting of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was held Saturday, January 
23. The following programme was presented: — 

Current Art G. M. Dennison. 


I. Metal Maud E. McClary. 

II. Wood ...... Lucille Reynolds. 

III. Lithography Olive Rosencranz. 

A regular meeting of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was held on Saturday, 
February 6. The following papers were read : — 
I. The technical side of the Art of Illus- 
trating and Newspaper Illustration Mary Martin. 



II. Illustrations of Books and Magazines Margaret E. Starr. 

III. Posters ...... Mary Jauch. 

IV. Women Illustrators .... Helen Ordway. 

At a regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha, held February 6, the fol- 
lowing programme was presented : — 

Don Quixote as a Classic. 

Discussion. What is a Classic ? 

Criticism of Don Quixote as a Classic 

Influence of Don Quixote on Succeeding 
Literature . . . . . 

Current Topic. The Arbitration Treaty 

At a regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha, held February 27, Miss 
Florence C. Breed, '99, and Miss Talulah Maine, '98, were taken into mem- 
bership in that Society. After the initiation the following programme was 
pi-esented : — 

The Modern Drama : Shakespeare. 

Presentation of Shakespeare in the time of 

Queen Elizabeth .... 

Modern Actors in Shakespearean Roles . 

Dramatization of Scenes from Midsummer 

Night's Dream .... 

Current Topic — The Cretan War 

Margaret Y. Henry. 
Agnes L. Bacon. 

Rebekah Blanchard. 
Myrtle Brotherton. 

Alice W. Childs. 
Jeannette A. Marks. 

Helen Kenyon. 


February 6, the Barn Swallows held a regular meeting in the gymna- 
sium, at 7.30. Two scenes from " Alice in Wonderland" were given, as 
follows : — 

The Mad Tea-Party. 
Mad Hatter . 
March Hare . 


Anna E. Wolfson, '99. 

Mabelle C. Phillips, 1900. 

Georgia M. Titcomb, 1900. 

Ethel N. Gibbs, 1900. 



The Visit of Alice and the Gryphon to the Mock Turtle. 

Mock Turtle J. F. Smith, '99. 

Gryphon .... Mathilde von Beyersdorff, 1900. 
Alice Ethel N. Gibbs, 1900. 

Feb. 7. — Rev. F. Mason North, of New York, preached in the chapel 
at eleven o'clock. Rev. W. G. Puddefoot preached in the evening on "The 
Winning of the West." 

Feb. 8. — Piano Recital, Mr. Carl Buonarnici. 

Feb. 13. — Miss Addams, of Hull House, gave a talk at four o'clock, 
in the chapel, on her experiences in Russia and her visit to Tolstoi's 
home. In the evening the class in Constitutional History held the annual 
House of Commons. The speaker in the Chair was Miss Mary S. Goldthvvaite. 
Miss B. G. Chase, representing Burns (R.), Battersea, moved a Resolution to 
Abolish the House of Lords. Other members were : — 

Webster (T.), Isle of Wight 
Labouchere (R.), Northampton 
Lowther (T.), Kent 
Hicks-Beach (T.), Bristol . 
Ashmead-Bartlett (T.), Sheffield 
Lockwood (L.), York . 
Morley (L.), Montrose 
Gorst (T.), Cambridge University 
Chamberlain (L. U.), Birmingham 
Clarke (L.), Plymouth 
Dillon (Nat.), Mayo . 
Saunderson (T.), Armagh . 
Lecky (L. U.), Dublin University 
Healy (Nat.), Louth . 
Goschen (L. U. ) , St. George's Hanover 
Harcourt (L.), Monmouth . 
Balfour (T.), Manchester 

Feb. 14.— Rev. C. W. Julian, of New 
at eleven o'clock. 


E. M. Guy. 

E. V. Patterson. 

H. E. Rollins. 

E. E. Bach. 

A. M. Dimmick. 

J. S. Munger. 

B. C. Marshall. 

M. Hathaway. 

M. W. Loughridge. 

L. E. Bolard. 

H. E. Seehnan. 

S. M. Moore. 

C. B. Heir. 

M. L. Barker. 

H. L. Dana. 

K. M. Porter. 

A. M. Reed. 

Bedford, preached in the Chapel 


Feb. 15. — A masquerade was given in the gymnasium Monday after- 
noon, from three to six o'clock, by Misses Booth, Marks, Foote, Burton, 
Miller, Mooar, Wetherbee, and Plympton. A musical lecture was given in 
the chapel on Monday evening by Rev. Henry G. Spaulding. The subject 
was "Robert Browning as the Poet of Music and Musicians." Mr. Spaulding 
was assisted on the piano by Miss Louise Trowbridge. 

Feb. 20. — Miss Nichols, of Boston, gave a lecture on Modern British 
Poets at four o'clock in Lecture Room I. A regular meeting of the 
Barn Swallows was held in the gymnasium at half past seven o'clock in the 
evening. A play was given from the Harvard Stories, called "That Awful 
Chum." The cast was : — 

Steve Hudson 
Ned Burleigh 
Jack Randolf 
Mrs. Hudson 
Miss Hudson 

Helen Hunt, '98. 

J. C. Nickerson, '99. 

Mildred Eliot, 1900. 

Jessie Cameron, 1900. 

Ethel Barton, 1900. 

J. M. Clark, '99. 

Feb. 21. — Prof. George Harris, of Andover, preached at the regular 
morning service at eleven o'clock. National Vespers were held in the evening. 
Miss Coman gave a short talk on Washington, and read part of his Farewell 

Feb. 22. — In the evening the Glee and Mandolin Clubs gave a 
concert in the chapel at half past seven o'clock. The concert opened with 
"The College Beautiful," by the Glee Club, and the significance of the day 
was brought to mind by the song, " George Birthington's Washday." The 
platform was decorated with the American flag. The first floor center also 
was decorated with flags, sofa pillows, and plants. 

Feb. 24. — Miss Hart gave a lecture on Italian Art in the Art Building 
at quarter past four o'clock. The freshmen in her divisions were invited. 

Feb. 27. — The Agora held an open meeting in the gymnasium. 
The United States Senate was represented. Frances H. Rousmaniere, '98, 
sat in the chair. The Resolution before the Senate was : "That the indepen- 



dence of the Republic of Cuba be, and the same is hereby, acknowledged by 
the United States of America." The speakers were : — 

Sen. Cameron (Perm.) .... Helen Buttrick. 

Sen. Hoar (Mass.) 
Sen. Morgan (Ala.) 
Sen. Palmer (111.) 
Sen. Perkins (Cal.) 
Sen. Call (Fla.) . 
Sen. Gray (Del.) 
Sen. Mills (Texas) 

Professor Coman. 

Julia N. Colles. 

Ruth S. Goodwin. 

Martha T. Griswold. 

. Carolyn L. Morse. 

Carrie Howell. 

Mary E. Haskell. 

The resolution was carried by the vote of the galleries. 

Feb. 28. — Prof. Rush Rhees, of the Newton Theological Seminary, 
preached at eleven o'clock in the chapel. 

Mar. 1. — Mr. J. G. Wooley spoke in the chapel on " Christian Citizen- 

The Department of English Literature has added this year to its list of 
syllabi one by Miss Jewett, on Chaucer, and one by Professor Bates, on the 
English Drama, with a revision of the Outlines on American Literature. 
The complete list now on sale by the department is as follows : — 

History of English Literature. Outlines $.50 

History of English Literature. Classified References 25 

Chaucer. Outlines, Topics and References 50 

English Drama. Outlines and References. (150 pp.) 1.00 

Modern English Poets. Outlines, Topics and References 50 

American Literature. Outlines 15 


Owing to the illness of her mother, Anne Sybil Montague, 79, has 
been obliged to give up a part of her work at the College. 

Mrs. Helen Barrett Montgomery, B.A., Wellesley, '84, president of the 
New York State Federation of Woman's Clubs, was given a reception by 
the Woman's Club of Brooklyn, February 8. Mrs. Montgomery read a 
paper at the meeting of the Club on " The Ethics of Money Spending." 

The brother of Caroline B. Morse, '84, is to make up a party for Euro- 
pean travel next summer. 


Ada M. Wing, '86, will remain at Brown University next year, and 
offer an advanced course in Physiology at the Woman's College. 

Harriet L. Merrow, '86, Professor of Botany in the College of Agricul- 
ture at Kingston, R. I., visited the College on February 22. 

Mary C. Mosman, '86, spent Sunday, February 7, at the College. 

Elizabeth H. Palmer, '87, has resigned her position at Wheaton 
Seminary, and will spend next year in study. 

Amorette L. Winslow, '88, has lately announced her engagement to 
Mr. Charles Wetherbee, brother of Alice Wetherbee Morehouse, Sp., 

Mary L. Sawyer, '88, is teaching English and History at BrowneL 
Hall, Omaha, Neb. 

Caroline M. Field, '89, is teaching in Miss Kimball's School, in 
Worcester, Mass. 

Eleanor Gamble, '89, is studying Philosophy at Cornell. 

Clara B. Mowry, '89, is spending the winter in Hildesheim, Germany. 

Ethel Paton, '89, is teaching History and History of Art at St. 
Margaret's School, Waterbury, Conn. 

Isabelle Stone, '89, is still studying Physics and Mathematics at the 
University of Chicago. 

Clare L. Wade, '89, is spending the winter at "The Arlington," 
Arlington Street, Boston. 

Rose J. Sears, '90, who has been for some years a teacher in the 
Huguenot College at Wellington, Cape Colony, is now in this country 
trying to raise money to secure the permanent employment of a trained 
nurse for the College. 

Louise Swift, '90, is studying Political Economy at the University of 

Marion Fitz Randolph, '92, sailed for Genoa on Saturday, February 
20, where she expects to meet her sister Caroline Randolph, '94. They 
will return to this country about the middle of May. 


Mrs. Anna Wilkinson Rathbun, '92, is visiting Abbe Carter Goodloe, '89. 

The engagement of Elizabeth Little, '92, to Mr. Robert Cushman, of 
Central Falls, R. I., has just been announced. 

Louise Brown, '92, sailed for Eui'ope Januai'y 26. 

Media K. Carrier, '92, is teaching Mathematics in the High School at 
Batavia, N. Y. Address, 139 Bank Street, Batavia, N. Y. Miss Henrietta 
Cattell is with her. 

Annie Coulter, '92, is teaching in Auburn, R. I. 

May Cushing, '92, is teaching English in the Dedham High School. 

Janet Davidson was abroad from July to November. 

Mary R. De Vou, '92, is studying German at her home in Wilming- 
ton, Del. 

Virginia Dodge, '92, is organizing a library in Cedar Rapids, Mich. 

Lucy J. Dow, '92, is teaching Latin and studying Art. Her address 
is 41 Silver Street, Westfield, Mass. 

Alice Dransfield is teaching Mathematics in the Free Academy, 
Albany, N. Y. Her address is 198 Lancaster Street. 

Josephine Emerson is in charge of the science in the training school, 
Department of Kindergartners, Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Jennie Furber is teaching Kindergarten in Boston. 

Alice Hamlin, '93, has resigned her position as Professor of Philosophy 
at Mt. Holyoke. 

Florence M. Barnefield, '95, is teaching in Mrs. Slade's School in 
Providence, R. I. 

Mrs. Helen James O'Brien, '95, with her husband, spent Sunday and 
Monday, February 21st and 22d at Wellesley. On Monday afternoon 
Helen M. Kelsey and Elizabeth A. Stark gave a tea in honor of Mrs. 
O'Brien, at which the following members of '95 were present : Cornelia 
Huntington, Harriet Lance, Mabel Lees, Harriet Nourse, Abbie Paige, 
Helen Stimpson, Josephine Thorpe, and Evelyn Whitehouse. 


The engagement of Gertrude McKinney, formerly of '95, is announced. 

Harriet Lance, '95, who is teaching in Rockland, Mass., spent Sun- 
day, February 21, at the College. 

During the Christmas holidays ten parties were given at the College 
Settlement in Philadelphia, at which four hundred and fifty guests were 
entertained. Christmas trees and toys for the children, and games, music, 
and dancing for the young people formed the chief amusements. Mr. John 
C. Lewis, the City Forester of Philadelphia, is giving a bi-weekly series of 
talks at the Settlement on the care of plants. Potted plants have been 
given to those who would agree to care for them through the winter, and 
in April an exhibition will be held, and prizes will be awarded to those 
whose plants show the most intelligent care. On February 7, Graham "Wal- 
las will lecture at the Philadelphia Settlement on the question, "What on 
Earth is Democracy?" 


Furber-Parker. — In Brookline, Mass., on Feb. 15, 1897, Miss Laura 
Mabel Parker, '88, to Mr. George Pope Furber. 


In July, 1896, in Brooklyn, N. Y., a daughter, Theodora, to Mrs. Doro- 
thy Lees Dole Holmes, '89. 

Dec. 24, 1896, in Lockport, N. Y., a son to Mrs. Sylvia Foote Gos- 
nell, '89. 

In August, 1896, in Pittsfield, Mass., a son, Clarence Babcock, to Mrs. 
Minnie Prentice Goodwin, '89. 

In September, 1896, at Randolph, Vt., a son, D wight Lyman, to Mrs. 
Mabel Smith Adams. 


In Roxbury, Mass., father of Katharine Lane, '89. 

In Sandusky, Ohio, February 19, Mrs. Homer Goodwin, mother of 
Maryette Goodwin Mackey, '88. 



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The newest designs of Fancy Jewelry, 
Hair Ornaments, Fans, and Opera 
Glasses in stock. 

We respectfully invite you to visit our store, whether you purchase or not. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Kent Place School 
for Girls, 

Summit, New Jersey. 

Hamilton W. Mabie, 

Application may be made to the 

Mrs. Sarah Woodman Paul. 



Street Costumes, Bicycling 
and Golfing Suits, Topcoats, 

Evening Gowns, Wraps, Mantles, Etc. 

Choicest imported materials, artistic and ap- 
propriate in cut, finest workmanship. 

Special inducements to young ladies. 

304 Boylston Street, . . BOSTON. 


Slpril, Korwell & Go. 

Deliver all packages at the 
College and in Wellesley free 
of charge ^^^^^^^Jt 

London Mixture 
Breakfast Tea. 

SI.OO per pound. 


Tremont Bldg., cor. Tremont and Beacon 
Sts., Copley Square, and Central Wharf, 
Boston, and Coolidge's Corner, Brookline 

(1111 ul)UuU Stand the Light! 
The more light the more good 
points you see. 

Perfect satisfaction in every purchase, 

Fine Confections . .Large variety 

of Fancy Boxes for Presents. 

and that backed up to the letter. Men- 
tion this advertisement. 

UnderWOOd, Leader in Footwear 

3 Clark's Block, Natick. 

V 146 Tremont St. 

Delicious Ice Cream Soda. Mail orders receive 
prompt and careful attention. 

The Young Ladies' Attention is called to something 
very attractive in a 

French Flannel Shirt Waist, 

which has been made to order in the most Fashionable 
colors and very "Chic" style for 


TVo. 44 Temple Place, Boston. 

The Young Ladies should make a special examination of these Waists, as they are 

proving wonderfully satisfactory. 


335 Washington Street, Bostan. 

College Athletic and Gymnasium Outfitters. 

Crew Sweaters and Jerseys, which are also suitable for all athletic purposes, made to order in any 

style in the best manner. 
A Discount of 10 per cent is given Wellesley students on individual orders. Special net rates for crew or team orders. 



Photographer to the Class of '97 

Nos. 74 and 88 Boylston Street, 




The elegant Sabine Edition of Eugene Field; Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co.'s beautiful editions of the American authors, 
Lowell, Hawthorne, Emerson, Holmes, Whittier and Long- 
fellow, superbly illustrated with 375 steel engravings and 
original etchings, on Japan paper, by far the best, and the only 
illustrated editions published. 

ALL the Standard Editions of Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer, 
Dumas, Waverly, Eliot, Victor Hugo, and other authors, in 
select bindings. All the Standard Dictionaries and Encyclo- 
pedias. The complete set delivered at once, and payments at the 
rate of $1 or $2 per month, will be satisfactory. 

Prices charged are guaranteed to be the lowest cash 

Address, "X," 

Care of Wellesley /lagazlne. 


Rooms 1, 2 and 3 

218 Boylston Street 



Tailor-made Costumes and 


No. 344 Boylston Street 



Royal Worcester Corsets, $1.00, $1.25, 
$1.50, and upwards. 

French Corsets, $1.50, $2.00, $2.25, and 

Glove Fitting Corsets, 75 cts., $1.00, $1.25, 
$1.50, and upwards. 

R. & Q. Corsets, 75 cts., $1.00, $1.25, and 

Ferris Good Sense Waists, 75 cts., $1.00, 
$1.25, and upwards. 

Jackson Waists, $1.25, $1.50. 

Equipoise Waists, $1.75, $2.00, $2.25, and 

Examine our Pongee Silk Corset. Whale- 
bone, $3.50. 


Next to Chandler & Company. 

No. 21 Winter Street, Boston. 


Private Corset Parlors 

Corsets and Bustles Made to Order 

Bigelow & Kennard Building, 
Nos. o and 10 


E. IV. Hodgson & Company, 

Eyes scientifically tested, $1.00. 

Glasses (rimless if desired), $1.50 ; Gold, $3.30, 
and upward. Astigmatic Lenses, $1.00 additional. 
Prescriptions filled at these prices. Ophthalmic opti- 
cians only in attendance. 

Best Watch Work and Watches in the city. Mr. 
Hodgson recently head watchmaker for Messrs. 
Bigelow, Kennard & Co. (6 years with them), 4 
years with The Shreve, Crump & Low Co. 

Special prices to Students on Watchwork. 

7 Temflc Place, Room 44., Boston. 

Take Elevator, 

Joseph Perkins, 

Reasonable Rates . . . Special Terms by 
the Quarter ; Lessons given Day or Evening. 

jfAgent for J. F. Luscomb's Latest Banjos,/* 

Noted for their . . . 

Brilliancy of Tone and Finish. 

172 Tremont Street, Room 36, 


Dr. Charles H. Veo 

(D.M.D., Harvard University) 

Dr. Louis N. Veo 

(D.M.D., Harvard University) 


Crown and Bridge = Work 

Lady Assistant always in Attendance 

Hotel Pelham, 74 Boylston Street 



486 BoVlSTOJV ST. 



Opposite M. I. Technology. 

To Students of Wellesley 10 per cent discount. 

TF you will try Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop's 


you will be relieved of headaches caused 
by loss of sleep, overwork, or nervous- 

Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop, 

Hotel Pelham, 74 Boylston Street, Boston. 


Penhallovv Tales, by Edith Robinson, with cover 
design by C. B. Murphy. Cloth, octavo, $1.25. 

The title of Miss Robinson's book is taken from the opening 
story, which it will be remembered created no little attention 
sometime ago when it appeared in The Century. 

More Songs from Vagabondia, by Bliss Carman 
and Richard Hovey, with new designs by T. B. 
Meteyard. Paper, boards, $1.00. 
Companion volume to " Songs from Vagabondia," now in 
its third edition. 

No. 69 Cornhill, Boston. 


BOSTON aiaci T_ii - v\E:E=t.:F 3 ooT_i. 

These Steamers are appointed to sail from BOSTON 

These new and immense steamships are the largest vessels 
sailing from Boston, and have a limited number of staterooms 
for first cabin passengers at very moderate rates. No steerage 

The staterooms are large and roomy, and are located on 
the top of Bridge Deck, thus insuring the best of ventilation. 

WINTER RATES, $45 and $50; Excursion, $85 and $95. 

The Adams Cable Codex. The most complete cipher code 
issued for circulation among travellers. 

For passage, cabin plans, etc., apply to 


General Passenger Agents, 
115 State Street, cor. Broad Street, . . . BOSTON. 



Makers of 


to the 


9^j«V Illustrated Catalogue and Particulars on Application**,^.* 



Headquarters for 



Ladies' Handkerchiefs. 


^" Temple Place, Boston. 

Shreve, Crump I Low Go. 



Pine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Programs a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


. .ONLY. . 

First Glass TDrougn Car 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 

8.30 a. m. (except Sunday) Day Express. 
IO.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (except Sunday) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.1 5 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Havens New York. 



9.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 3.30 p. m. 

11.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 5.28 p. m. 

12.00 m. (except Sunday) 5-32 p. m. 

4.00 p. m. (daily) 10.00 p. m. 

(New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 

1 1 .00 p. m. (daily) 6.41 a. m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Ag ent . 



The attention of students is called to our 
new Carbonettes. These are photographic 
reproductions in brown tone, closely imita- 
ting imported Carbons, but at our usual 
prices. We have added also a new line of 
picture frames especially adapted for students' 
rooms, giving artistic effects at very reasona- 
ble prices. 

Soule Photograph Co., 

338 Washington Street, Boston. 

Wright & Ditson. 

new England's leading athletic outfitters. 

Every Requisite for . . . 

Athletic Sports and Pastimes 

Golf, Tennis, basket ball, 
Skating, etc. 

Gymnasium, Fencing and Outing Uniforms 
of every description. 

Prompt and careful attention given to mail orders. 

Wright & Ditson, 

No. 344 Washington Street, Boston, Mass 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year ; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 


. . AND . . 



C W. PERRY, Sole Agent, 


perrg's Drug Store. 


Fine Stationery and Engraving House 

1121 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 




Heraldry and Genealogy a Specialty. 

Coats of Arms Painted for Framing. 


oman's Medical College of the 

New York Infirmary for Women and Children. 

AESSION '96-97 opens October 1, 1896. Four years, Graded Course. 
^""^ Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under 
supervision in Laboratories, and Dispensary of College, and in New York 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dis- 
pensaries open to Women Students. For Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East Fifteenth Street, 
New York. 




Fine Tortoise Shell Goods. 

Salesroom, 7 TEMPLE PLACE. 

Factory, 363 Washington St., BOSTON. 

Special discount to Wellesley Students. 

Stationer and Picture Dealer. 

Special attention given to Framing 
Pictures at reasonable prices. j*j*j* 

It is of easy access by the Electric Cars. 

No. 2 Jlain Street, Natick, flass. 


Trimmed and Untrimmed Hats. 
Bicycle and Walking Hats a Specialty. 

Our Dress-lining Department is the 
largest in the city. Jt «£* <£ <g <£ Jt 
Special prices to Wellesley Students. 





fflellesley Preparatory, 


For circular address the Principals, 


Established 1843. Incorporated 1895. 


Largest Stock and Lowest 
Prices on 


Mathematical Instruments, 

Drawing Materials and Picture Frames 



Importers and Wholesale Dealers, 

' Special Rates to Colleges." 

New Illustrated Catalogue Free. 



It is generally conceded that a stringed instrument 
is almost an absolute necessity. To secure the 
greatest enjoyment from the purchase get the best 
your money will afford. Expert judgment 
pronounces the "Bay State" instruments 
the finest in the world. An excellent instru- 
ment is the 


We have in stock cheaper banjos than this, 
but for a substantial, serviceable instrument 
at a low price, no other instrument manufac- 
tured can compare with it. Send for illus- 
trated catalogue. 

453-463 Washington Street, Boston. 




FULL LINE of Hand Cameras and 
Material=^<^Negatives Developed. 
Prints Made and Mounted<^=^<^ 


Wellesley Graduates are always in demand. 
Register now. 


William F. Jarvis, Manager. 

Send for registration blanks and circulars 



STATION ERYjj>^jjljj- 

A Large Variety in the Latest Styles. 

Fancy Goods, Novelties, Picture Frames, 
Bicycles, etc., etc. 


16 main Street, Piatick, Mass, 

PRI NTI NG^t^ &&&J.J.&J. 

First-CIass Work. Prompt Service. 

Class and Society Printing; a Specialty. 

We Guarantee Satisfaction. 

"The Bulletin Press," 

18 main Street, ISaticU, mass. 

JLvlCl CjrlOVeS 5 Hosiery, Underwear and Ribbons, Embroidery 
Silks, Stamped Linens, Denims, Art Muslins, and Cretonnes.^***** 

J. B. Leamy, Natick, Mass. 

lO per cent discount to all 

Professors and Students of 
Wellesley College. 

Artists'. . . 

Drafting Instruments. Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadsworth, Maud I Co., » 82 and 84 Washington Si., Boston. 

Branch Store in the Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, near St. James Avenue. Principal Factories, Maiden, 

Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 


Also the most reasonable in price. 




Prescription Opticians, 

New York Medical College and Hospital for Women. 

New York City, 213 West 54th St. 


Thirty-fourth Annual Course of Lectures began October 2, 1896. 

Curriculum includes a Four Years' Graded Course of Study, 
happily interspersing Didactic and Clinical Lectures, to- 
gether with Practical Anatomy, Chemical and Histo- 
logical Laboratory Work, so as to give the broadest 
cultivation with the least possible fatigue to the 
students. Everything promised in the An- 
nouncement rigidly adhered to. 

J. de la M. LOZIER, M.D., Sci.D., Dean, 

135 West 34th St., New York City. 
For information, address 

M. BELLE BROWN, M.D., Sec'y, 

135 West 34th Street, New York City. 


Evangeline Hathaway, 'go, is organizing a private party 
for the summer of '97. An experienced conductor will accom- 
pany the party. Address her at 11 Beacon Street, Boston. 

Ifoigb Class 

Cart) ant) party Engraving 

Special ^Discount to TSflellealeg Stuoenta 


Imperil your health by going 
without your luncheon when 
you can find such dainty, pal- 
atable, and nutritious food for 
moderate prices, at^^JtJi'Jijt 

Boors Lames' Lund, 



All orders for articles per- 
taining to dinners or desserts 
and for the service of parties 
will be carefully executed,^* 



Importers "' r— 

Art Pftotograpfts 

, D „ e d" 8 ra °. e ;:„„i Artistic Picture frames 

28 Summer Street 
43 Bromfield Street 


Before deciding about going to 

Europe tills Summer 

. . . CONSULT . . . 

7 rionument Avenue, 


at moderate. c&vC 

Carriage .enftma IO&l2(3*dJWtl6fc 


Discounts to Students and Teachers of 
Wellesley College. 

* ' 

"We sell 
High Grade 


At price of I^OW GRADE elsewhere. 

f Shaw 

■{ Wegman 

L Jacob's 

THIS COUPON 1S G00D F0R $25.00 


FRAN T.*„ SHAW ' B0YLST0N PIANO CO., 160 Boyiston st. 

Perfect Comfort 

For women and positive style. That's what we studied 
for. That's what we have. Not a toe crowded. Noth- 
ing to pinch or hurt. 

TheH. H. "TuttleShoe" 

is made on men's lasts. Has that graceful outside 
swing that gives the little toe breathing room. Double- 
soled calf for those who want heavy shoes. Lighter 
grades for others. $4 to $8 is the price. Discount to 
Students and Faculty. 

H. H. TUTTLE & CO., 

Washington St., cor. Winter Street. 

The Fisk Teachers' Agencies. 

4 Ashburton Place, Boston, Mass. 

70 Fifth Avenue, New York City, N. Y. 
1342 Twelfth Street, Washington, D. C. 
355 Wabash Avenue, Chicago, 111. 

25 King Street, West Toronto, Canada. 

420 Century Building, Minneapolis, Minn. 

107 Keith & Perry Building, Kansas City, Mo. 
72S Cooper Building, Denver, Col. 

525 Stimson Block, Los Angeles, Cal. 


Photographs in all colors by the Carbon Process. 

Enlarged or reduced copies of Paintings, Engrav- 
nigs, etc. These photographs are absolutely per- 
manent, and of the greatest artistic merit. 


Bfo. 145-A Tremont Street, Boston, Mass. 
T. Irvin Chapman. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Oriental Carpets and Rugs. Axminsters, 'Wilton and 

Brussels Carpets. 

We are now ready to show the finest line we ever opened in 

Foreign and Domestic Carpets. 

All new in style, and adapted to the present furnishing 
Our own special patterns. Our open stock is full at prices lower than ever. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Near Cornliill. 

163 to 169 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 

Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. "^"V 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. ^^ 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

at home x sjl\ 


Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, j^ 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 



are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount 
to eveiy department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 


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Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Rain-proof 
Garments, Silk Petticoats, 
and Tea Gowns. 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

Always in Stock at 
Moderate Prices. . . 




531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 


Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.